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.IBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSfT/7 


OF  CALIFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
EDWIN  CORLE 

PRESENTED  BY 
JEAN  CORLE 


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BOOKS  BY  HERMANN  SUDERMANN 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


The  Joy  of  Living  (Es  Lebe  das  Leben).  A  Play 
in  Five  Acts.  Translated  from  the  German  by 
Edith  Wharton.  net  $1.25 

Roses.  Four  One-Act  Plays.  Translated  from  the 
German  by  Grace  Frank.  net  $1.25 

Morituri.  Three  One-Act  Plays.  Translated  from 
the  German  by  Archibald  Alexander. 

net  $1.25 


ROSES 


• 


K 


I 


ROSES 


FOUR   ONE- ACT   PLAYS 


STREAKS     OF     LIGHT— THE     LAST    VISIT 
—  MARGOT  — THE     FAR-AWAY     PRINCESS 


BY 

HERMANN  SUDERMANN 


TRANSLATED    FROM  THE   GERMAN 
BY 

GRACE    FRANK 


CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

NEW   YORK::::::::::::::::::::::::  1914 


* 


- 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published  September,  1909 

Reprinted  March,  1910;  March,  June,  and 
November,  1912;  May,  1913:  March,  1914 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

STREAKS    OF    LIGHT  1 

M  A  R  o  o  T  45 

THE    LAST    VISIT  91 

THE   FAR-AWAY   PRINCESS  139 


2037337 


CHARACTERS 

JULIA. 

PIERRE. 

WITTICH. 

THE  PRESENT  DAT 

The  action  takes  place  at  a  small  pavilion  situated  in  the 
park  belonging  to  an  old  castle. 


[2] 


STREAKS    OF    LIGHT 

An  octagonal  pavilion  of  the  Rococo  period,  the  three 
front  walls  of  which  are  cut  off  by  the  proscenium.  Ceiling 
and  walls  are  cracked  and  spotted  by  rain,  and  bear  the 
marks  of  long  disuse.  At  the  back,  in  the  centre,  a  large 
doorway.  The  glass  door  is  thrown  wide  open;  the  shutters 
behind  are  closed.  On  the  right  and  left,  in  the  oblique  walls 
of  the  room,  are  windows,  the  shutters  of  which  are  also 
closed.  Through  the  blinds  at  the  door  and  the  right  win- 
dow, sunbeams  in  streaks  of  light  penetrate  the  semi-darkness 
of  the  room. 

On  the  left,  in  the  foreground,  a  Louis  Sixteenth  sofa 
with  table  and  gilded  chairs  to  match.  On  the  wall  above, 
an  old  mirror.  Near  the  sofa,  a  tapestried  doorway.  A 
chandelier  wrapped  in  a  dusty  gauze  covering  is  suspended 
from  the  ceiling.  A  four-post  bed  with  hangings  of  light  net 
takes  up  the  right  side  of  the  stage.  In  the  foreground,  in 
front  of  the  bed,  a  table  with  plates,  glasses,  wine-decanters, 
and  provisions  on  it.  A  coffee  percolator  stands  under  the 
table.  In  the  middle  of  the  stage,  a  little  to  the  right,  a 
chaise-longue.  At  the  head  of  it,  a  small  table.  Between  the 
large  door  and  the  windows,  dusty  marble  busts  on  dUapi- 
[3]  " 


STREAKS    OF    LIGHT 

dated  pedestals.  Above  them,  on  the  walls,  a  collection  of 
various  sorts  of  weapons.  The  Oriental  rugs  which  are 
thrown  about  the  floor  and  over  the  chaise-longue  contrast 
strangely  with  the  faded  splendour  of  the  past. 

The  whole  room  is  decorated  with  roses.  On  the  table  at 
the  left  is  a  bronze  vessel  of  antique  design  overflowing  with 
roses.  Garlands  of  roses  hang  from  the  chandelier  and  en- 
circle the  bedposts.  On  the  small  table  near  the  chaise- 
longue,  a  large,  flat  dish,  also  filled  with  roses.  In  fact 
wherever  there  is  any  place  for  these  flowers,  they  have  been 
used  in  profusion. 

Part  of  the  table  which  stands  in  front  of  the  sofa  is  cov- 
ered by  a  napkin,  upon  which  are  seen  a  bottle  of  wine  and 
the  remains  of  a  luncheon  for  one.  It  is  a  sultry  afternoon 
in  midsummer. 

JULIA  lies  on  the  chaise-longue,  asleep.  She  is  a  beautiful 
woman,  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  intractable  and  pas- 
sionate, with  traces  of  a  bourgeois  desire  to  be  "romantic." 
She  is  dressed  in  white,  flowing  draperies,  fantastically 
arranged. 

A  tower  clock  strikes  four.  Then  the  bells  of  the  castle  are 
heard  ringing.  Both  seem  to  be  at  a  distance  of  about  two 
hundred  paces. 

PIERRE  enters  cautiously  through  the  tapestried  doorway 
at  the  left.  He  is  a  fashionably  dressed,  aristocratic  young 
fellow  who  has  been  petted  and  spoiled.  He  is  effeminate, 
[4] 


STREAKS    OF    LIGHT 

cowardly,  arrogant,  and  is  trying  to  play  the  passionate  mart, 
although  inwardly  cold  and  nervous. 

JULIA. 

(Laughs  in  her  sleep.  Her  laughter  dies  out  in  groans.) 
Pierre!  Pierre!  Help!  Pierre! 

PIERRE  (bending  over  her). 
Yes,  yes.    What  is  it? 

JULIA. 
Nothing —     (Laughs  and  goes  on  sleeping). 

PIERRE  (straightening  up). 

Whew!  How  hot  it  is!  (He  stares  at  JULIA,  his  face 
distorted  by  fear  and  anger,  and  beats  his  forehead.  Then 
indicating  the  outstretched  form  of  the  woman.)  Beautiful! 
— You  beautiful  animal — you!  (Kneels.  JULIA  holds  out 
her  arms  to  him,  but  he  evades  her  embrace.)  Stop!  Wake 
up! 

JULIA  (tearfully). 
Please  let  me  sleep. 

PIERRE. 

No!  Wake  up!  I've  only  come  for  a  moment.  It's  tea- 
time,  and  I  have  to  go  back  to  the  house. 

JULIA. 
Please  stay! 

[5] 


STREAKS    OF    LIGHT 

PIERRE. 
No,  mamma  will  be  asking  for  me.    I  have  to  be  there 

for  tea. 

JULIA  (pettishly). 

I  have  a  headache.    I  want  some  black  coffee! 

PIERRE. 

Then  make  it  yourself.  The  gardener  is  cleaning  the 
orchid  rooms  in  the  hot-house,  and  he  has  no  time  for  you 
now. 

JULIA. 

He  never  has  time  for  me ! — And  the  meals  that  his  wife 
cooks  are  simply  abominable! — And  the  wine  is  always 
warm! — Do,  for  mercy's  sake,  steal  the  key  to  the  ice- 
house! 

PIERRE. 

But  you  know  that  I  can't! — I  always  bring  you  all  the 
ice  that  I  can  manage  to  take  from  the  table.  If  I  insist 
upon  having  the  key,  the  housekeeper  will  tell  mamma. 

JULIA. 

But  I  won't  drink  warm  wine — so  there!  That's  what 
gives  me  these  headaches. 

PIERRE. 

Your  headaches,  1  want  to  tell  you,  come  from  the  roses. 
Ugh! — this  nasty  smell  from  the  withered  ones — SQUF — 
[6] 


STREAKS    OF    LIGHT 

like  stale  tobacco  smoke — why,  it  burns  the  brains  out  of 
one's  head! 

JULIA. 

See  here,  dearie,  you  let  the  roses  alone!  That  was  our 
agreement,  you  know — basketsful,  every  morning!  I  wish 
the  gardener  would  bring  even  more!  That's  what  he's 
bribed  for. — More!  More!  Always  more! 

PIERRE. 
See  here,  if  you  were  only  reasonable 

JULIA. 

But  I'm  not  reasonable!  O  you — you —  (She  holds  out 
her  arms  to  him.  He  names  to  her.  They  kiss.)  More ! — 
More! — No  end! — Ah,  to  die! 

PIERRE  (freeing  himself). 
Oh! 

JULIA. 
To  die! 

PIERRE  (with  hidden  scorn). 

Yes — to  die.  (Yawning  nervously.)  Pardon  me! — It's 
as  hot  as  an  oven  in  here. 

JULIA. 

And  the  shutters  are  always  closed !  For  eight  long  days 
I've  seen  nothing  of  the  sun  except  these  streaks  of  light. 
Do  open  the  shutters — just  once! 

[7] 


STREAKS    OF    LIGHT 

PIERRE. 
For  Heaven's  sake! 

JULIA. 
Just  for  a  second! 

PIERRE. 

But  don't  you  realize  that  the  pavilion  is  locked  and  that 
not  a  soul  ever  crosses  the  threshold  ? 

JULIA. 

Oh,  yes,  I  know — because  your  lovely,  reckless  great- 
grandmother  lost  her  life  here  a  hundred  years  ago !  That's 
one  of  those  old-wives'  tales  that  everyone  knows. — Who 
can  tell  ?  Perhaps  my  fate  will  be  the  same  as  hers. — But 
do  open  the  shutters! 

PIERRE. 

Do  be  reasonable!  You  know  that  in  order  to  come  in 
here  by  the  side  door  without  being  seen  I  have  to  crawl 
through  the  woods  for  a  hundred  yards.  The  same  per- 
formance twice  a  day — for  a  week !  Now,  if  I  should  open 
the  shutters  and  one  of  the  gardener's  men  should  see  it, 
why,  he'd  come,  and  then • 

JULIA. 

Let  him  come !    I'll  smile  at  him — and  he's  no  man  if  he 

doesn't  keep  quiet  after  that!     Why,  your  old  gardener 

would  cut  his  hand  off  for  me  any  day  of  his  life — just  for 

a  bit  of  wheedling! — It  can't  be  helped — they  all  love  me! 

[8] 


['*.] 

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[61] 

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[91] 

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SUIOOM  ui  sanoq  ^ao^sBd  'Xdd^q  )uads 


qj  jo  9ra  oj  3{B9ds  01  u 
—  -ino  punojuoos  noX  '001  'i^qj  'UBua^A  Xq  S^BO  SB  S9soj 
iCq  p9U9ppBui  graoogq  j  ;Bqj  puB  'sa^  —  jsasoj  jo  suiBqD 
9J9M  iBqi  S9SS9JBO  puB  s9ouBjS  qiJAV  noX  oj  9ta  puiq  oj 
jijos  uB§9q  noA"  uaqj^  —  'aaaaij  'jBqi  p9J9AOOsip 
uoos  noX  puy  —  •pq-agjoo  UAVO  st9uo  jo  iq3i9AV  9qj  95ji|  si 
9AO]  qons  jo  iq8i9A\  9qj^  —  *9i9qi  S^BA^B  si  ';i  jo  joaioq  aqj 
'pB9jp  9qi  ing  —  uaqopQ  UBqi  qojBj\[  ui  9jora  —  Suiuiora 
aqi  UBqi  2u;u9A9  9qi  ui  9jom  —  spuadap  ij  —  - 

9UO  sdBqj9d  -  J|9S9UO  $\\3\  9UO 


•vnaf 

juis 
in  9jnsB9|d  jo  p39p  ;B9j§  B  punoj  no^  am  01  staoos 


si  IUIBS  aqi  puB  —  o(Bq  9qi  XBAVB  Avo^g  —  jsuiaA  ano  ui  pooyq 
stUBrao^  i9[iBog  9qi  9ABq  [|B  9AV  ^Bqi  j  uBqi  ja^aq  A\au>{ 
n°A  iW  —  '3C(  ^BUI  s98^^^  aqi  jo  isaj  aq;  Jt9A9iBqAV  puB 


XHOIT  JO  SXV3HXS 


[Sll 

ujopora  sqi  jo  siqSu,,  jnoA*  qijM.  XBAB  aju  no  A* 
4qoB9i  ui  si  A*9id  9qi  u9qM  puy  —  -jpsauo  oj  iirapB  jou  s9jBp 
auo  iBqj  suis  }9io9s  aqi  '{nos  isomm  s^auo  ui  uappiq  9q 
SUTS  aq;  ;no  ifOBX}  pire  ju9os  01  Avoq  ^d90X9  'Sui 

ui  9ou9u9dxa  jnoX  uiojj  p9u 
puy  —  -jpsinoX  SB  g^BuoissBd  SB  9q  pX  pire  pooqugpjBra 
p  qsnjq  9qi  d99^  o^  —  9is'Bq3  9q  p/  pun 

IUBAI  no^    -snouosiod  9JB  sraB9jp 
•vnnf 


'J9UIB9JP  B  raB  j     'jdniioo  ^iq  B  jou  raB  j 

-  SJIMA 


siq  jo  3}ids  ui  —  9joo  9q^  o 
ajom  SBAV  juno^)  SunoX  9qi  'o^  -pagsijBs  ^nsB9  os  jou  OJ^AV 
no^  '9JJ9IJ  'noX  ;ng  '59X9  siq  qi;A\  9ra  AiOfloj  o|  ut?qj  9jora 
3uiq;ou  pa^uBAV  gq  joj  —  jnoX  uBqj  J9;pq  SBAI  9q  puy 

•vnnf 


j90i;ou  jnoX  qjBauaq  ^USBAV  A"oq-9jqB}s 
9qi  U3A3  —  noX  IB  jjooj  pjnoA\  oqA\  UBUI  A*i9Aa  q;iAi  panjg 
'1J9J  puB  jqSu  S90UB|S  J99AVS  p9J9Moqs  9A4iioX  ing 


•raiq 
UBTU  J9q)o  XUB  o;  pgSuopq  J9A9U  pBq  j  MOU^  noX  ' 

•vnnf 

XHOIT  JO  SXV3HXS 


[H] 

I  aouaps 
•uoo  jnoA"  jnoqB  paujaouoo  uaaq  noA*  aAuq  Suo\  AYOJJ 


<JI  jo  noA*  'asBo  siqj  ui  aouaps 
-uoo  A^inS  aq;  SBq  oqM.  AVOUJJ  oj  aifq  pj  —  ,j 


3M.O  i  —  jjaara  j  }i3qi  ajdoad  aqi  uo  uAvop 
j  —  ;iTBap  spui7q  Xni  ^UBAV  j  j^qSiBJ^s  paj  o;  a?[T| 
j  —  ;;i  pu^s  j4uoM  j  —  ;ji  ajjq  ^uop  j  <j  ssauisnq  araosqi«O[ 
siqi  o^ui  ara  Si3jp  no^  pip  A{^  —  •jaiqStvep  s^pj^Majs  aq^ 
q^iAV  piqosira  o^ui  ]o%  j  'uaajjg  jo  p^{  «  SB  'uaqAV  am  aA^S 
aqs  i^qj  J^a  aq}  uo  xoq  aq;  a>[q  ajaAV  spiOAV  jaq  —  (i^\\}  no  A" 

aaB  —  qaillJAi  J-13!!  'II9M  ^J8A  ^l00!  ltuoP  n°A>»  <mm  °1  P!BS 
BUIUIBUI  uaq^Y  'sjooq  sjq  uo  ^snp  aq^  3pq  o;  ^qSno  j  j;  SB 
4PJ  j  p^C  puB  '^ipjBAvui  UBUI  aqi  paujoos  j  —  <j  mtq  a^isoddo 
aiaqi  IBS  j  SB  auiBqs  snoasnBu  'Surjiq  .-Cui 
jpuBjs  o}  pBq  j  jeqAV  oj  pajBdraoo  jBaj  ano^C  si 
•(jno  Bmjsj,n(f) 


,»  ara  uajqSuj  o\  aaaq  araoD  noX  pip  'A"BS  j 


ipjoA\  B 

pUB  'satui;  aaaqi  uopsanb  B  raiq  pa>[SB  BraraBj\[    -uado 
siq  qjiAv  sdaa^s  oqM  UBUI  B  asnj  papB  ajj    -§uipanaj 

XHO1T  vIO  SXV3HXS 


[81] 

uaaq  pBq  aq  ji  SB  —  ji  SB  —  p;2u  XpitqosqB  A^ai8  aq  Xjuappris 
jtig  —  jjpsXra  jo  ajBO  a3[Bj  o;  Avoq  AYOU3J  i  ^uitfl  I  'HO 

•aaaaij 

<jsn  ABxjaq  o}  Suiq^XuB  op  no^f 
piQ    jsjooq  ino^C  u;  3ui5jBqs  uaaq  3Ai?q  jsntu  noX  ' 

•vrmf 


sq  o;  auou  BIB 

9JOOI  M8J  B  JOJ  5[SB  J  9UIIJ  A'tlB  ^B  JJ  '^ 

jo  SSBUI  auo  si  9DB[d  a^oqAV  aqj  jBq;  i;s  j  aaaqAV  raojj  aas 
UBO  j  MO^J    UB3X  siqj  ajBisa  ano  uo  SuiuaddBq  s; 
XjaA  Su;qjaraogM  'niiq  oj  piBs  BraraBra  Xjuappng 
SniAJJOAV  djaq  ;tuBD  j  ^Bqj  pajjnooo  Suiqi  aSuBJ^s  B 


uaqi  puy  —  jaAiiqi  sXBAvp  ^Caqx  —  isdimnj  siq 


•aq  piBS  4<'jBaA*  siqj  \\SJA.  ^JSA  SuiAuqj  jou  ajtB  sasoj  JHQM 

t  XBS  aq  pip  ^BqAV  puy 


•vnnf 

<t-sasoj  aqi 

3Aoj  os  saop  aqg    -MOU  ^snf  ajaq  ^^s;  ajiM  jBap  jno^  A^id 
B  S4;j}>  'tniq  oj  piBS  BraraBra  'aa^Bj  'uaq;  puy  , 


XHOIT  JO  SXV3HXS 


[SI] 

uBiiBSunjj  B 


•vnnf 

•9ta  •ys 

pasjooj  aq  A"BAV  aqj  SUIAOUOB  jsora  A^jBaj:  SBAI  }i  'AqM  — 
-Tunota  os  —  os  'XjSuiuonsanb  os  am  ^B  pa5{oo^  aq 


JBJJ   JBJJ    iaoBj-uuaiBAV  uBiaBunjj  B  ^B  ratj  og 


•}i  ^usi  'Xuunj  ^SuiraBaaos  s^i  (fijiwoojS) 
<S9A     ('BuiifBnvj  jno  s}sj,nq  vnnf)     'uoos  amoq 
-xa  OJOAV  noX  ^Bq^  puB  'SuiAoadmi  ajaAs.  no^C  ^Bqi 
-Suua^BAV  UBUBSunjj  B  ^B  aaaAV  no^  ^Bq;  pauiB|dxa  aq  ' 


,j  asp  iBq^     i  asp  ;BqM  puy 
•vnnf 


siq  Suiqo^iAi.1  /C|8ui|SB[iaAa  SBM  aq  'aDB^d  puooas  aq^  nj 


•vnnf 
B  a^jij  —  saAO|S  5{OBjq  aiOAV  aq  'aoBjd  ISJTJ  aq^  uj 


XHOIT  JO  SXV3HXS 


[It] 

jara  pi  'ara  flaj,    i  1°°l  ^  P!P 
•vnnf 

XBS  ^upjnoAv  j  'ou  ' 


£  J3A3  SB  araBs  aqj  jsnt  aq  SBAI  —  aq  SBAV  Moq  puy 
•vnnf 


Xra  uo  s)s;sn;  SUBMIT?  oqs  Moq  MOU?}  no^C  ^ng    'ino 
3q  o;  popuapjd  ^[iBan^u  j    •Brara'em  joj  pa^sB  pu« 
iAv  —  inoquuru  9H1J|  aqi  ui  auiBO  aq  't 


'ara  [jajL    ,jpauaddBq 
•vnnp 

•qSnoua  uoos  ^i  Suureaq  aj^ 


t  ara  ipi  oj  pa^i 
—  MOU  puy     j  aouo  JB  auioo  noX  I4upjp 
•vrinf 


;ara  moij  Suiq^araos  Sui|BaDuoo  aa^no^C  —  axiai  j 


XHOIT  ,IO  SXV3HXS 


[at] 

'°N  —  (JuosBaa  ppads  y 


^  Suiraoo  joj  uosBai  B  3ABq  3q  pi 
•vrmf 


•uiqj  jo 

lios  iBqi  \[B  puB  —  .moqqSpu  JSSJBSU  ano  —  MOU5[  noX  ' 
01  pasn  s^CBMp  3jj     (ji^m  jnoqra  Suisudans  os  e^ 


^  —  pu^qsnq 
Guisu)  vnnf 

•Suiaioui  $i\{\  aflSBo  aqj  ;B  SBM  pueqsnq  anoX 


•vrmf 
uo  ^ou  inq  —  qsiM  noX  asp  Suiq^CuB  UQ 


'uo  o 

noA  UJ^Y  'aupppBj^  aq;  PJBMO^  AVOU  'BiadQj  ap 
aqi  PJBAVOJ  M.OU  —  ^aajjs  aq)  UMOp  puB  dn  Sui^oo^  puB 
sap  ajB^  aqi  ;B  Sui^is  'AVOU  SIJBJ  ui  s^aq  ja^BAi  flj 
5[OBq  ^qSiBJ^s  Suituoo  uaqi  puB  —  auaos  ISB^  'pB  ISBJ 
J  —  spssnig  TUOJJ  uiiq  SupuAV  —  auiui  jo  uoijou  jaAap 
SBAV  iBqj,  —  jjaAO  pjjOM  ajoqAi  aq}  aor  aoj  SuiqoaBas  si 

XHOIT  dO  SXV3HXS 


[6] 
puBqsnq  A*j\[    ;suiB9Jp  QUO  ou  —  spadsns  auo  o^j    • 

A*psoq3  'AJ9AOJ  jnoA*  jo  uoipajojd  9qj  aapun 
'MOU  araq  raj     ^i  jo 


puy 


•M.ou3[  noX  'paaiSra  SBM  ^qj  —  raooyq  sasoa  sq;  SB  2uo|  sy 
•vrmf 

,1  uoijiABd  siqj  u;  isBf  o;  aai^S  3 
si  ia8uoj  qonni  AOJJ    ,;  no^  jo  ataooaq  oj  s^BqA\.  ' 

•(fhllSU)    3HH3IJ 


jooj     uquBj^s  9OTOS 

op  oj  SIUBM  aq  os  put?  —  saAOj  jiaqj  aiSuBjjs  9[doad 
3[ooq  ^qSneu  B  ui  pB3a  SBq  X!oq  3inq  A*j\[  —  ;  5JB9M  os  —  s 
-ug  ijos  asoqj^     J9ta  JBSQ  (fij&uifijuf)  —  JBJJ   ;BJJ   J 
•vnnf 


,jOp  o;  95{ij  pj  iBqAv  AVOU>I  no    OQ 
yn  puv  fijsnoami  piq  fij^os") 


jos  saqoB  pBaq  Xra  puy    'noj  A^io  ^tj  jo  —  J,uop 

;9jj9ij;    (-sawm  puv  jL9i{  uofeq  uaiop 
noA* 


•vnnf 


XHOIT  JO  SXV3HXS 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

PIERRE. 

Good!  Well  then,  take  a  carriage  at  the  station  and 
drive  home;  throw  yourself  at  his  feet  and  tell  him  every- 
thing. Tell  him,  for  all  I  care,  that  you  hate  me — that  you 
loathe  me — I  don't  mind — grovel  before  him  until  he 
raises  you.  And  then  all  will  be  well ! 

JULIA. 

Ah,  if  it  were  possible! — It  would  be  deliverance — it 
would  be  heaven!  I  should  be  safe  once  more — a  human 
being ! — I  should  see  the  sun  again,  instead  of  these  streaks 
of  light! — I  should  breathe  the  fresh  air,  instead  of  this 
musty  odour  of  dead  roses! — I  shouldn't  have  to  sink  down, 
down  into  the  filth! — I  shouldn't  have  to  be  a  bad  woman 
— even  if  I  am  one ! — There  would  be  a  respectable  divorce 
— or  perhaps  merely  a  separation.  For,  I  no  longer  dare 
hope  to  live  with  him  as  his  wife,  even  if  I  were  satisfied  to 
be  no  better  than  his  dog  for  the  rest  of  my  days ! — Ah,  but 
it  cannot  be!  It  cannot  be!  You  don't  know  him.  You 
don't  know  what  he's  like  when  the  veins  stand  out  on  his 
forehead! — He  would  kill  me! — Rather  than  that — kill  me 
yourself! — Here — now — this  moment! — Get  your  duelling 
pistols.  Or,  no!  There — there — there  are  plenty  of 
weapons !  (She  putts  at  the  weapons  on  the  watt,  several  of 
which  fall  clattering  upon  the  floor.)  Swords — daggers — 
here!  (Throws  an  armful  on  the  chaise-longue.)  They  are 

[25] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

rusty — but  that  doesn't  matter. — Take  one!  Stab  me  first 
— then — do  as  you  please ! — Live  if  you  can — do ! — live  as 
happily  as  you  can!  Your  life  is  in  your  hands. 

PIERRE. 
Yes — I  dare  say.     Live! — But  how?    Where?     (Sobs 

chokingly.) 

JULIA. 

Come,  then — we'll  die  together — together!  (They  sink 
into  each  other's  arms  and  remain  motionless  in  mute 
despair.  After  a  time,  JULIA  raises  her  head  cautiously  and 
looks  about  her.)  Pierre! 

PIERRE  (troubled). 
Well? 

JULIA. 

Has  it  occurred  to  you?    Perhaps  it  isn't  so,  after  all! 

PIERRE. 
What  do  you  mean? 

JULIA. 

Perhaps  we've  just  been  talking  ourselves  into  this  no- 
tion, little  by  little — think  so  ? 

PIERRE. 
You  mean  that  he  really  wanted  to  do  nothing  but — • 

look  at  the  pavilion  ? 

JULIA. 

Well,  it's  possible,  you  know. 
[26] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

PIERRE. 
Yes — at  least  nothing  very  unusual  occurred. 

JULIA. 

But  your  naughty,  naughty  conscience  came  and  asserted 
itself.  Ha!  Ha!  What  a  silly  little  boy  it  is!  A  down- 
right stupid  little  boy! 

PIERRE. 


My  imagination  was  always  rather  easily  aroused.    I 

JULIA  (laughing  without  restraint). 
Such  a  stupid  boy! — Pierre,  let's  make  some  coffee — for 

a  change,  eh  ? 

PIERRE. 

But  you  know — I  have  to 

JULIA. 

Dear  me,  mamma  has  had  her  tea  long  ago.  Tell  her 
you  sat  down  in  the  shade — and  fell  asleep — anything! 
It's  growing  a  bit  shady  here  now.  See  there !  The  streaks 
of  light  have  gone.  (Indicates  a  corner  of  the  room  in  which 
the  streaks  of  light  have  just  groivn  dim.)  Ah !  but  how  hot 
it  is!  (Tears  her  dress  open  at  the  throat,  breathing  heavily.) 
Will  you  bring  me  the  coffee-pot,  like  a  good  boy  ? 

PIERRE  (listlessly). 

Oh,  well — all  right.    (Carries  the  coffee-pot  to  the  table.) 
[27] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

JULIA. 

Pierre,  you — you  couldn't  open  the  small  door  just  a 
tiny  bit  ?    No  one  would  look  into  the  shrubbery. 

PIERRE. 
Well,  out  there  in  the  shrubbery,  it's  even  hotter  than  in 

here. 

JULIA. 

Oh,  just  try  it— won't  you  ? 

PIERRE. 
Well,  you'll  see!    (Opens  the  door  at  the  left.) 

JULIA. 

Whew!    It's  like  a  blast  from  a  furnace!    And  that  dis- 
gusting odour — a  mixture  of  perspiration  and  bad  perfume 

-ugh! 

PIERRE. 

That's  from  the  roses  of  our  by-gone  days — they  lie  out 

there  in  great  heaps. 

JULIA. 

Close  the  door!    Hurry — close  it! 

PIERRE  (does  so). 
I  told  you  how  it  would  be! 

JULIA. 

Well,  perhaps  you  could  adjust  the  shutters  at  the  large 
door  so  that  we'd  get  more  fresh  air  in  here. 
[28] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

PIERRE. 

Even  that  would  be  dangerous.  If  some  one  happened 
to  be  looking  this  way  and  saw  the  movement 

JULIA  (going  to  the  door). 

One  has  to  do  it  slowly,  ve-ry  slow-ly —  (She  starts, 
uttering  a  low  cry  of  fear,  and  retreats  to  the  foreground, 
her  arms  outstretched  as  if  she  were  warding  off  a  ghost.) 

PIERRE. 
What's  the  matter? 

JULIA. 

Sh!  Sh!  (Approaches  him  cautiously,  then  softly.) 
There's  a  man — out  there. 

PIERRE. 
Where  ? 

JULIA. 

Hush! — Come  here — you  can  see  it  against  the  light. 
(They  cautiously  change  places.  PIERRE  utters  a  low 
shriek,  then  JULIA,  softly,  despairingly)  Pierre! 

PIERRE. 
It  must  be  the  gardener. 

JULIA. 
It's  not — the — gardener. 

PIERRE. 
Who  is  it  then? 

[29] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

JULIA. 
Creep  around— and  lock— the  glass  door. 

PIERRE  (weak  from  fright). 

I  can't. 

JULIA. 

Then  I  will.  (She  has  taken  but  a  few  steps  toward  the 
door  when  the  streaks  of  light  again  become  visible.)  He's 

gone  now! 

PIERRE. 

How — gone  ? 

JULIA. 

There — there — nothing 

PIERRE. 
Seize  the  opportunity — and  go. 

JULIA. 
Where? 

PIERRE. 

To  the  gardener's  house — quick — before  he  comes  back. 

JULIA. 
In  broad  daylight — half  dressed  as  I  am  ? 

PIERRE. 

Throw  on  a  wrap — anything — hurry !  (Knocking  at  the 
door  on  the  left.  They  both  stand  rooted  to  the  spot.  The 
knocking  is  repeated.  Then  PIERRE,  in  a  choking  voice) 
Come  in. 

[30] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

(WITTICH  enters.  Pie  is  a  large,  burly  man  of  about  forty, 
whose  whole  appearance  betrays  neglect ;  his  sandy-coloured 
hair  is  pushed  back  from  his  forehead  in  damp  strands  ;  his 
beard  is  straggling  and  unkempt;  his  face  is  haggard  and 
perspiring,  his  eyes  lustreless.  He  staggers  heavily  in 
walking.  He  speaks  in  a  stammering,  hesitating  voice;  he 
gives  the  impression,  in  sum,  of  a  man  who  is  deathly  ill, 
but  is  making  an  intense  effort  to  hold  himself  together.) 

WITTICH. 

I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  am  disturbing  you.  (Both  stare  at 
him  without  venturing  to  move.) 

PIERRE  (taking  heart). 

Oh — p-p-please 

WITTICH. 

I  see  you  were  about  to  make  coffee.    Really — I  don't 

want  to 

PIERRE  (stammering). 

P-p-please — th-there's  no — hurry 

WITTICH. 

Well,  then  we  may  as  well — settle — our  affair — first. 
(JuLTA,  who  has  been  standing  quite  still,  panting,  utters  a 
tow  groan.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  WITTICH  catches  his 
breath  as  if  suffocating,  then  sinks  into  one  of  the  chairs  at 
the  left  and  stares  vacantly  at  the  floor.) 
[31] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

PIERRE  (edging  up  to  JULIA — then  softly). 
Can  you  understand  this? 

JULIA  (glancing  back — aside  to  PIERRE). 
Keep  near  the  weapons! 

PIERRE  (as  WITTICH  moves). 

Hush! 

WITTICH. 

You  must  forgive  me — I  only  wanted  to — look  after — 
my — wife.  (Breaks  down  again.) 

PIERRE  (aside  to  JULIA). 
Why,  he's  quite  out  of  his  mind! 

JULIA. 
Keep  near  the  weapons! 

WITTICH. 

I  don't  care — to  settle — this  matter — by  means  of  a — 
so-called — affair  of  honour.  I'm  a  plain  man.  I  only  know 
about  such  things  from  hearsay.  And  any  way — I  don't 
see  that  they  help — m-matters  much.  (Breaks  into 
tearless  sobs.) 

PIERRE  (aside). 
He  won't  hurt  us. 

JULIA  (stammering). 
I  simply— don't— understand  it — at  all! 

[32] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

PIERRE  (pointing  to  WITTICH). 

Try  it!     Go  to  him! 

JULIA. 
He's  not  a  bit  like  himself. 

PIERRE. 
Go  on!     Go  on! 

JULIA. 

(Who  has  timidly  approached  her  husband,  but  has 
drawn  back  at  a  movement  of  his,  suddenly  throws  herself 
at  his  feet  with  great  emotion.)  George!  George! — I  am 
guilty! — I  have  sinned  before  God  and  you! — I  acknowledge 
my  crime! — My  life  is  in  your  hands! — Crush  me — grind 
me  to  dust! — But  God  knows,  I  only  obeyed  a  wretched 
impulse.  My  love  for  you  has  never  left  my  heart. — My 
one  desire  is  to  die.  Kill  me! — Here! — Now! — But  forgive 
me!  Ah,  forgive  me! 

WITTICH  (staring  straight  ahead). 
Yes,  they  always  talk  like  that — in  books,  at  least. 

JULIA. 
Forgive  me! 

WITTICH. 

There  is  nothing  to  forgive.  And  I  am  not  going  to  kil* 
any  one.  What  good  would  it  do  ?  (  JULIA  sobs,  hiding  her 

\ace  in  her  hands.) 

PIERRE. 

Well,  then — don't  kneel  there — like  that — Julia,  dear! 
[33] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

JULIA. 

I  shall  lie  here  until  he  raises  me.  Raise  me!  Take  me 
in  your  arms!  Oh,  George 

WlTTICH. 

Yes,  that's  what  they  always  say.     (Sinks  into  reverie 

again.) 

PIERRE  (aside  to  her). 

Hush!  Stand  up!  (She  does  so.)  Well — h'm — I  sup- 
pose I  may  assume,  Heir  Wittich,  that  you  had  some  pur- 
pose in  seeking  this  interview  ? 

WITTICH. 

Yes — yes.  (Looking  about  him.)  I  can  well  imagine 
that  my  wife — er — that  the  lady  must  find  it  very  pleasant 

here. 

PIERRE. 

Oh,  yes — we  needn't  hesitate  to  say  that,  need  we, 
Julia,  dear? 

JULIA  (uncertainly  adopting  his  tone). 
No,  indeed,  Pierre,  dear. 

WITTICH. 
At  least — she  seems  to  have  plenty  of  roses  here. 

JULIA  (laughing  nervously). 
Oh,  yes — plenty. 

[34] 


STREAKS  OP  LIGHT 

WlTTICH. 

May  I  ask  whether  the  lady  has  made  any  arrangements 
for  the  future? 

JULIA  (still  timidly). 
I  was  thinking  of  making  my  home  in  Paris,  wasn't  I, 

Pierre  ? 

PIERRE. 

Yes.  You  see,  Julia  wants  to  live  a  life  suited  to  her 
tastes  and  inclinations — a  life  such  as  she  cannot  have 
even  here — a  life  consecrated  to  Beauty  and  Art. 

WITTICH. 

They  say  that  an  existence  of  that  sort  comes  high.  Has 
my  wife — er — has  the  lady  made  any  provision  for  her 

expenses  ? 

PIERRE  (embarrassed). 

From  the  moment  that  I  become  of  age  I  shall  be  in  a 
position  to — h'm — h'm 

WITTICH. 
I  see.     But  until  that  moment — ? 

PIERRE. 

I— er 

WITTICH. 

Well,  I  consider  it  my  duty — and  mine  alone — to  protect 
the  woman  whom — until  recently — I  called  my  wife.  And 

[35] 


STREAKS   OF   LIGHT 

to  save  her  from  ruin,  I  am  willing  to  make  any  sacrifice 

whatsoever. 

PIERRE. 

Oh,  as  for  that,  of  course — 

WITTICH. 
I  don't  intend   to   demand   that  you   legitimize  your 

relations. 

PIERRE. 

Very  kind  of  you — really — very  thoughtful  indeed. 

WITTICH. 

Not  for  a  moment  that  I  don't  dare  to  insist  upon  such 
an  arrangement  for  my  former  wife,  but  because  I  want 
to  guard  her  from  lifelong  misery. 

PIERRE. 

Really,  you  wouldn't  believe  how  often  we  have  discussed 
this  question — would  he,  Julia,  dear  ? 

JULIA. 

But  I  am  never  going  to  grant  your  wish,  Pierre,  dear. 
You  shall  keep  your  liberty — you  shall  be  free !  Even  as  I 
ask  nothing  better  than  to  follow  my  own  inclinations.  If 
I  am  ruined  because  of  them — well,  it's  no  one's  concern 
but  my  own — no  one's!  (Tosses  her  head.) 

WITTICH. 

May  I  inquire  what  those  inclinations  are  ? 
[36] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

JULIA. 

It's  hard  to  say — off-hand. — You  must  feel  it — you 
must —  Well,  I  want  to  be  free! — I  want  to  hold  my  fate  in 
my  own  hands ! — I  want —  Oh,  why  talk  about  it  ?  What 
is  one  poor,  human  life  ? — especially  a  life  like  mine ! — • 
I  am  branded — doomed  to  the  gutter! — One  need  use  no 
ceremony  with  me  now! 

WITTICH. 

Really!  Well — h'm — if  I  had  known  that  you  felt  that 
way  about  it — I  should  have  made  you — a  different  prop- 
osition— Julia,  dear. 

JULIA. 
Tell  me!     Please! 

PIERRE. 

Yes — tell  us — please! 

WITTICH. 

I  suppose  I  may  assume  that  the  people  at  the  castle 
know  nothing  of  this  little  adventure  of  the  young  Count's  ? 

PIERRE. 

You  may  rest  assured,  my  dear  sir,  that  I  know  what  is 
due  a  woman's  honour. 

WITTICH. 

Ah — really! — Well,  I'm  sure  no  one  saw  me  coming 
here.  So  then,  there  need  be  no  scandal. 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

PIERRE. 
That  would  certainly  be  most  agreeable  to  all  parties 

concerned. 

WITTICH. 

But — how  did  the  lady  propose  to  leave  here  without 

being  seen? 

PIERRE. 

Pray,  my  dear  sir,  let  that  be  my  concern. 

WITTICH. 

That  concern,  however,  I  shall  share  with  you — my  dear 
sir.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  the  best  plan  would  be  for  the 
lady  to  put  on  a  decent  dress,  walk  through  the  grounds 
with  me,  and  pay  a  visit  to  the  Countess  at  the  castle. 

PIERRE. 
What!— my  mother —  ?     What's  the  use  of  that  ? 

WITTICH. 

It  will  look  as  if  she'd  returned — and  we'd — somehow — • 
met  here. 

PIERRE. 

Do  you  think  any  one  is  going  to  believe  that  ? 

WITTICH  (proudly). 
What  else  should  they  believe  ? 
(88  J 


STREAKS   OF  LIGHT 

JULIA  (frightened  anew). 

Oh,  but  I  don't  want  to!     I  don't  want  to  do  that! 
Pierre!  I  want  to  stay  with  you !     I  am  under  your  protec- 
tion, Pierre! 

PIERRE. 

See  here,  my  dear  sir,  let  us  suppose  that  your  plan  is 
successful — what  then  ? 

JULIA. 
Yes — yes — afterward — what  then  ? 

WITTICH. 

Then? — Then —  (Looks  from  one  to  the  other,  un- 
certainly, almost  imploringly,  and  breaks  down  again.) 

PIERRE. 
Well — won't  you  go  on  with  your  proposition  ? 

WITTICH. 

Yes,  I  suppose  that  when  a  man  has  acted  as  I  have 
acted  here,  he  must  have  lost — his  sense  of  pride — and 
honour — and  all  the  rest  of  it — long  ago. — Then  nothing  is 
left  him  but — his  duty. — And  the  thing  that  seems  to  me  my 
— duty — I  am  going  to  do. — Let  the  Count  sneer  at  me — 

I  no  longer 

PIERRE. 
Oh,  please — I  say! 

139] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

WlTTICH. 

Well,  then,  let  me  tell  you  something,  Julia.  After  I  had 
read  the  letter  from  Brussels,  I  had  two  rooms  prepared 
for  you — in  the  left  wing — quite  apart;  so  that  some  day, 
in  case — you  ever — came  back — •  Oh,  well — it  doesn't  mat- 
ter now.  But  the  rooms — are — still  there — and  if  you 
would  like  to  come  home  with  me  now — straight  off — well, 
you  might  be  spared — some  annoyance. 

PIERRE. 

H'm — so  you're  willing — ?  (Shrugs  his  shoulders  and 
laughs.}  I  suppose  that  sort  of  thing  is  all  a  matter  of 
taste — but  I  can  understand 

WITTICH. 
I  am  speaking  to  you,  Julia. 

JULIA. 

Oh,  I  thank  you  most  heartily,  George.  It's  certainly 
very  noble  of  you — and — I  deeply  appreciate  it.  But  after 
— this,  I  should  always  feel  ashamed  before  you — I  should 
feel  that  I  was  just  being  tolerated — I —  No.  Thank  you, 
George — but  I  can't  accept  it. 

PIERRE  (correcting  her). 

That  is—!    (Aside  to  JULIA.)    Don't  be  a  fool! 
[40] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

WITTICH  (without  noticing  PIERRE). 

You  shall  never  hear  a  word  of  reproach  from  my  lips, 
Julia,  dear. 

JULIA. 

But — if  I  should  actually  accept — we  never  could  go  on 
as  we  did  before,  you  know.  I  must  be  free  to  do  exactly  as 
I  please — to  go  away — come  back — just  as  I  like.  There 
Is  such  a  thing  as  the  sovereignty  of  the  individuality,  my 
dear  George — you  can't  deny  that. 

PIERRE. 
Herr  Wittich  can't  possibly  deny  that! 

WITTICH. 

You  shall  have  your  own  way  as  far  as  it  lies  in  my  power, 

Julia,  dear. 

JULIA. 

And  then,  you  must  try  to  bring  a  little  more — more 
beauty  into  our  life. — I  surely  have  the  right  to  demand 
that.  Just  look  about  you  here.  You  know  how  passion- 
ately fond  of  roses  I  am.  My  soul  demands  something 
besides — potatoes!  Well,  I  insist  upon  having  roses 
around  me.  That's  not  unreasonable,  is  it? 

WITTICH. 

You  shall  have  roses  enough  to  smother  you. 
[41] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

PIERRE  (nervously). 

Well,  then,  Julia,  dear,  I  see  no  reason  why  we  should 
not  accept  this  proposition. 

WITTICH. 
What  have  you  got  to  say  about  it? 

PIERRE. 

i  beg  your  pardon,  Heir  Wittich.  I  certainly  don't  want 
to  offend  you.  But — as  Julia  and  I  have  found  so  much 
in  each  other — haven't  we,  Julia,  dear  ? 

JULIA. 

Yes — so  very,  very  much,  Pierre,  dear. — And  to  know 
that  we  were  so  near — and  yet  could  never  see  each  other 
or  talk  together,  or —  I,  for  my  part,  couldn't  endure  it, 
could  you,  Pierre  ? 

PIERRE. 
Oh — as  for  that — well,  it  would  be  hard,  Julia,  dear. 

JULIA. 

And  what  would  the  world  say,  dear  George,  if  we 
should  suddenly — and  apparently  without  any  cause — • 
break  off  all  communication  with  our  neighbors  ?  How 
would  Pierre  explain  it  to  his  mother  ?  Why,  he  simply 
couldn't!  No;  if  we  are  to  carry  out  your  plan,  then  every- 
[42] 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

thing  must  remain  outwardly  the  same  as  before.     Don't 
you  agree  with  me,  Pierre,  dear? 

PIERRE. 

(Hesitating,  with  an  apprehensive  glance  toward 
WITTICH.)  Outwardly — yes,  Julia,  dear. 

WITTICH  (losing  control  of  himself). 
So  that's  your  condition,  is  it  ? 

JULIA  (with  a  sort  of  nervous  impudence). 

Yes,  that's  our  condition — isn't  it,  Pierre,  dear  ?  (PIERRE 
does  not  reply,  but  looks  at  WITTICH.) 

WITTICH. 

Really  ? — Really ! — Very  well !  (He  draws  himself  to  his 
full  height,  his  face  flushes,  and  he  looks  around  the  room 
wildly,  as  if  searching  for  something.) 

JULIA. 
What  are  you  looking  for,  George  ? 

WITTICH. 
If  you —     (Gasps  as  if  suffocating.) 

JULIA. 

George!     George!    What's  the  matter? 
143  j 


STREAKS  OF  LIGHT 

WlTTICH. 

There — there — there!  (With  a  loud  cry,  he  falls  upon 
the  weapons  and  snatches  one  of  the  daggers.) 

JULIA. 
Help!    Help!     Pierre!     Save  me! 

PIERRE  (at  the  same  time). 

Help!  Help!  (He  pushes  open  the  door  and  escapes, 
screaming.  JULIA  rushes  out  through  the  door  at  the  left. 
WITTICH  dashes  after  her.  A  piercing  shriek  is  heard. 
After  a  short  pause,  JULIA  appears  at  the  large  door  in  the 
centre.  She  tries  to  go  further,  fails,  supports  herself  against 
the  door  posts  for  an  instant,  and  then  reels  into  the  room. 
She  attempts  to  lean  against  the  small  table  in  the  centre,  but 
falls  to  the  floor,  dying.  As  she  falls  the  small  table  is 
upset,  burying  her  beneath  a  shower  of  roses. 

Through  the  doorway  at  the  left,  WITTICH  is  heard, 
sobbing  and  groaning.  In  the  distance  PIERRE  is  shouting 
for  help.  The  sound  of  many  voices,  growing  louder  as 
the  curtain  falls.) 


F441 


II 

MARGOT 

A    PLAY    IN    ONE    /  CT 


CHARACTERS 

HERR  EBELING,  a  lawyer. 
FRAU  VON  YBURG. 
MARGOT,  her  daughter. 
DOCTOR  VON  TIETZ. 
BONATH,  a  secretary. 
A  SERVANT. 

THE  PRESENT  DAY 
The  scene  is  laid  in  a  large  German  city. 


[46] 


MARGOT 

The  richly  furnished  office  of  a  prosperous  lawyer.  Pic- 
tures, bronzes,  carved  furniture,  costly  hangings.  In  the 
foreground,  on  the  left,  a  window;  turned  toward  it,  a  wri- 
ting-table with  a  writing-chair  behind.  Near  the  window,  a 
leather  arm-chair.  At  the  narrow  side  of  the  table,  in  the 
foreground,  a  low  seat.  On  the  right,  a  sofa,  table,  and 
chairs.  In  the  background,  a  door  which,  when  opened, 
reveals  the  clerks  working  at  long  tables.  To  the  right,  back, 
another  door.  The  backward  projection  of  the  writing- 
table  forms  a  revolving-stand  for  reference  books.  On  the 
writing-table,  among  documents  and  writing  materials,  are 
photographs  in  standing  frames  and  a  slender  vase  filled 
with  dark  red  roses. 

It  is  winter,  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  The  lamps 
are  lighted. 

EBELING  is  seated  in  the  writing-chair.  He  is  a  man  of 
about  forty,  attractive,  winning  in  manner,  his  clothes  be- 
tokening wealth  and  refinement;  he  wears  a  short,  dark 
beard,  and  his  hair  is  slightly  gray  at  the  temples.  VON 
TIETZ,  sitting  opposite  him  in  the  arm-chair,  is  about  thirty, 
very  smartly  dressed — in  appearance  a  type  of  the  ordinary 
drawing-room  devotee. 

[47] 


MARGOT 

EBELING  (holding  out  a  box  of  cigars). 
There!    Now  let's  chat.    Will  you  smoke? 

v.  TIETZ  (helping  himself). 
Really  now — if  I'm  disturbing  you 

EBELING. 

See  here,  my  dear  fellow,  if  you  were  disturbing  me,  I'd 
make  short  work  of  you.  But  (looking  toward  the  clock) 
my  office  hours  are  over.  And  we'll  find  out  immediately 
what  else  there  is.  (He  rings.) 

BONATH  appears  with  a  bundle  of  papers. 

EBELING. 
Is  any  one  still  there? 

BONATH. 
No,  Herr  Ebeling,  but  a  lady  is  expected. 

EBELING. 

Yes,  I  know.  Well,  let  me  have  the  papers.  (BONATH 
lays  them  before  him.) 

EBELING. 

(To  v.  TIETZ.)     You  can  go  on  speaking.    These  are 
only  signatures. — Have  you  a  light  ? 
[48] 


MARGOT 

V.  TlETZ. 

(Who  has  stood  up  and  is  looking  around  the  room.) 

Yes,  thank  you. 

EBELING. 

See  that  this  decision  is  delivered  to  Baron  von  Kanoldt 

at  once. 

BONATH. 
Yes,  Herr  Ebeling. 

v.  TIETZ. 
You've  become  a  collector,  I  see. 

EBELING  (signing). 
One  must  have  some  diversion. 

v.  TIETZ. 
What's  that  ?    Looks  like  a  Terburg.    Is  it  an  original  ? 

EBELING  (signing). 
Would  you  expect  it  to  be  a  copy? 

v.  TIETZ. 
H'm,  your  practice  is  certainly  splendid. 

EBELING. 

There  are  a  lot  of  people,  though,  who  think  they  are 
cleverer  than  I — and  take  great  pains  to  justify  their 
opinion.  (To  BONATH.)  Will  it  be  necessary  to  work 
overtime  ? 

[49] 


MARGOT 

BONATH. 

Not  to-day,  Herr  Ebeling. 

EBELINO. 

Then  you  can  announce  Frau  von  Yburg  as  soon  as  she 
comes,     (v.  TIETZ  listens  attentively.) 

BONATH. 
Very  well,  Herr  Ebeling.    (Goes  owf.) 

v.  TIETZ. 
The  lady  you  are  expecting  is  Frau  von  Yburg  ? 

EBELING. 

Of  course  you  know  that  I've  been  the  Yburg's  legal 
adviser  for  years. 

v.  TIETZ  (sitting  down). 

Well,  really,  this  is  quite  a  marvellous  coincidence.  It's 
on  account  of  the  Yburgs  that  I've  come  to  see  you. 

EBELING  (interested). 
Is  that  so  ?    What's  the  matter  ? 

v.  TIETZ. 

My  dear  friend,  if  you  hadn't  so  completely  drawn  away 
from  all  society  since  your  wife  1 —  (alarmed)  I  beg 
your  pardon. 

[50] 


MARGOT 

EBELINQ. 

Go  on!  Say  it!  Left  me!  Walked  out  of  the  house! 
You  may  say  it.  But  then — drop  it!  Even  our  old  frater- 
nity friendship  doesn't  oblige  us  to  be  everlastingly  putting 
each  other  on  the  grill. 

v.  TIETZ. 
No,  really — it  escaped  me  somehow.    I'm  awfully  sorry. 

EBELING. 

Oh,  well,  never  mind.  You  know,  I  speak  of  it  quite 
disinterestedly.  And  it's  a  good  many  years  since  then. 
Only — I'd  rather  not  be  attacked  unawares. 

v.  TIETZ. 

Don't  worry.  I'll  be  on  my  guard.  But — as  we've  men- 
tioned it — there's  something  I  wanted  to  ask  you  before — 
only  I  hadn't  the  courage.  Tell  me,  do  you  always  keep 
her  picture  on  your  table  ? 

EBELING  (in  a  hard  voice). 
Yes. 

v.  TIETZ. 
Then  you  still  love  her  ? 

EBELING. 

No.    I  only  keep  the  picture  there  to  warn  me  against 
making  a  fool  of  myself  again.    So  many  charming  women 
[51] 


MARGOT 

sit  there  where  you're  sitting,  women  just  on  the  point  of 
divorce — and  therefore  in  need  of  consolation.  Every  now 
and  then  one  of  them  undertakes  to  faint — um — and  then 
I  have  to —  (Holds  out  his  arms.} 

v.  TIETZ  (bursting  out  laughing). 
Aha !    Very  interesting  !    Very  interesting  ! 

EBELJNG. 
In  short,  it  does  no  harm  to  keep  the  picture  there. 

v.  TIETZ. 

Of  course,  everyone  knows  how  much  courted  you  are. 
For  instance,  no  matter  when  I  come  to  see  you,  I  alwavs 
find  those  beautiful  roses  on  your  table.  They  speak  for 

themselves.  Heavens!  What  a  luxury!  Roses  in  Janu- 
ary! 

EBELJNG. 

Things  like  that  come  anonymously.  If  I  knew  who  the 
sender  was,  I  wouldn't  accept  them. 

v.  TIETZ. 

Let  me — with  all  due  modesty — give  you  a  piece  of  ad- 
vice: you  ought  to  marry. 

EBELJNG. 

(Ironically,  shaking  his  finger  at  him  across  the  table.) 
Thank  you.  But  didn't  you  want  to  speak  to  me  about  the 
Yburgs? 

[52] 


M ARGOT 

V.    TlETZ. 

Yes.  What  was  I  going  to  say  ? — Oh,  yes.  Well,  if  you 
hadn't  taken  it  into  your  head  to  live  like  a  hermit,  you'd 
know  that,  for  some  time  past,  I've  been  a  very  frequent 
visitor  at  the  Yburgs's. 

EBELING. 

Oh,  yes,  I  know.  I  go  there  myself  sometimes — only 
not  when  other  people  are  around. 

v.  TIETZ. 

Well,  then,  to  make  a  long  story  short — why  should  I 
mince  matters  with  you  ? — I  am  courting  Margot. 

EBELING  (startled). 
Ah — you,  too  ?    You're  also  one  of  the  crowd  ? 

v.  TIETZ  (conceitedly). 
I  trust  that  I  stand  up  a  bit  above  the  crowd. 

EBELING. 

Indeed  ?  I  thought  perhaps  the  social  glamour  of  the 
Yburgs  was  attracting  you.  A  thing  like  that  can't  help 
dazzling  one.  But  that  you • 

v.  TIETZ. 

Is  it  so  surprising  ?    That  girl  is  so  bewitching — so — so 
entirely  unlike  these  forward,  city-bred  girls.     With  her, 
[53] 


MARGOT 

at  least,  one  knows  what  one  can  count  on.    She's  so — so 
the  essence  of  everything  innocent  and  chaste  and  pure. 

EBELING  (quoting). 
"Be  thou  as  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as  snow, " — thy  dowry 

shall  not  escape  me. 

v.  TIETZ. 

No,  no — don't  joke.  It's  out  of  place.  I  won't  deny 
that,  as  an  official  without  fortune — that  would  also  be 

very — h'm — but 

EBELING. 

Yes,  but  what  have  I  got  to  do  with  it? 

v.  TIETZ. 

See  here,  my  dear  friend,  we  scattered  remnants  of  the 
old  college  fraternity  have  grown  so  accustomed  to  ask 
your  help  in  times  of  need,  to  look  up  to  you  as  a  sort  of 

father  confessor 

EBELING. 

Do  you  want  me  to  go  and  propose  for  you  ? 

v.  TIETZ. 

We'll  talk  of  that  later.  But  first  I'd  like  to  ask  you 
something.  See  here,  what  role  is  Baron  von  Kanoldt  play- 
ing in  this  family? 

EBELING. 
So  that's  it! 

[54] 


MARGOT 

V.   TlETZ. 

You're  his  counsel  in  his  divorce  proceedings,  aren't 
you? 

EBELING. 

As  the  affair  has  become  common  talk,  I  need  make  no 
secret  of  it. 

v.  TIETZ. 

They  say  that  it  is  the  wife  who  has  been  the  martyr. 
And  yet,  after  fifteen  years,  he  begins  the  divorce  proceed- 
ings. Why  should  he? 

EBELING. 

My  dear  fellow,  you  must  put  that  question  to  some  one 
who's  not  so  well  informed  as  I  am. 

v.  TIETZ. 

Oh,  see  here,  I  don't  want  to  be  indiscreet  about  it,  but 
the  further  the  case  goes,  the  more  persistent  are  the 
rumours  that  he  has  designs  on  Margot's  hand — and,  fur- 
thermore, that  her  mother  is  encouraging  him! 

EBELING. 
Frau  von  Yburg  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes. — Ask  her! 

v.  TIETZ. 


MARGOT 

EBELING  (shrugging  his  shoulders). 

Oh,  well  then 

v.  TIETZ. 

But  just  think !  that  man — forty,  if  he's  a  day,  fat,  worn 
out,  a  roue  whose  amorous  adventures  are  common  gossip 
to  every  cabby  on  the  street! 

EBELING. 

Pardon  me,  my  clients  are  all  virtuous,  young,  hand- 
some, desirable— of  inestimable  pulchritude. 

v.  TIETZ. 
See  here — are  you  chaffing  me  ? 

EBELING. 

I'm  only  trying  to  make  you  understand  that  you've  un- 
wittingly walked  into  the  enemy's  camp. 

v.  TIETZ  (standing  up). 
Very  well — if  you  don't  want  to 

EBELING. 

(Also  stands  up,  and  puts  his  hand  on  v.  TIETZ'S  shoul- 
der.)    My  dear  fellow,  you're  ten  years  younger  than  I. 
You're  one  of  your  country's  young  hopefuls.     Go  ahead 
and  do  what  your  heart  and  pocket-book  bid  you. 
[56] 


MARGOT 

V.    TlETZ. 

I  didn't  need  you  to  tell  me  that.      (A  knock  at  the  door.) 

EBELJNG. 
Come  in. 

BONATH 

Frau  von  Yburg  and 

EBELING. 
Ask  her  in. 

(BONATH  stands  aside,  opening  the  door.  Enter  FRAU 
v.  YBURG  and  MARGOT.  FRAU  v.  YBURG  is  a  woman  of 
about  forty,  dressed  simply  but  tastefully;  her  bearing  is 
dignified,  self-possessed,  refined,  and  betrays  a  natural,  un- 
affected knowledge  of  the  demands  of  convention;  but  hidden 
behind  her  assurance,  and  scarcely  noticeable,  are  the  traces  of 
an  old  sorrow,  a  helpless  glance,  and  a  forced  smile.  MAR- 
GOT  is  a  lovely  young  girl,  extremely  well-bred,  with  a  some- 
what shy,  reserved  manner.) 

v.  TIETZ  (at  sight  of  MARGOT). 
Ah! 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

I  brought  my  little  girl  along,  Heir  Ebeling,  to  let  her 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  lion's  den.  I  hope  that  you  won't 

mind. 

EBELING  (kissing  her  hand). 

A  thousand  times  welcome,  dear  ladies.  (Shakes  hands 
with  MARGOT.) 

[57] 


MARGOT 

FRAU  v.  YBUBG. 
Good  evening,  Herr  von  Tietz.  This  is  indeed  a  pleasure. 

(Gives  him  her  hand.) 

v.  TIETZ 

I'm  very  happy  to  meet  you  both — I  hadn't  hoped  to  see 
FrSulein  von  Yburg  here.  But  our  friend  believes  in 
military  promptitude.  I  have  just  received  permission  to 

take  my  leave. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

I  hope  that  you  will  come  to  see  us  soon,  Herr  von  Tietz. 

v.  TIETZ. 

That's  very  kind  of  you.  (Bowing  to  Maraot.) 
FrSulein  von  Yburg! 

EBEIING  (accompanying  him  to  the  door). 
Good-bye,  my  dear  fellow.    No  bad  feelings  now 

v.  TIETZ. 
Oh,  I  say!    Of  course  not!    (Goes  out.) 

EBELING. 
Won't  you  sit  down? 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Oh,  no.    Margot  is  only  going  to  glance  around  a  bit. 
Yes,  my  little  girl,  you  may  well  look  about.    Between  these 
four  walls  many  a  fate  has  been  shaped, 
[58] 


MARGOT 

EBELING. 
Let  us  rather  say,  has  been  mended. 

MARGOT  (softly,  suddenly  looking  up). 
Mine,  too  ? 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

(Looking  at  her  with  evident  disapproval.)  Perhaps 
Margot  may  call  for  me  again  in  half  an  hour.  You  won't 
mind? 

EBELING. 

It  will  give  me  great  pleasure. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Then  run  away,  dear,  pay  your  visit,  and  let  the  carriage 
bring  you  back  again.  (Sits  down,  right.} 

MARGOT. 

(Giving  him  her  hand  with  social  assurance,  but  a  little 
timidly,  none  the  less.)  Au  revoir,  Herr  Ebeling. 

EBELING. 

Au  revoir,  Fraulein  Margot.  (Accompanies  her  to  the 
door,  and  calls.)  Bonath,  see  to  it  that  Fraulein  von 
Yburg  finds  her  way  out.  She  is  coming  back  later. 

Voice  of  BONATH. 

Very  well,  Herr  Ebeling. 

[59] 


MARGOT 

(EBELINO  bows  to  MARGOT,  who  is  already  out  of 
sight,  and  closes  the  door.} 

EBELINO. 
Well,  Frau  von  Yburg,  we've  brought  matters  to  this 

point. 

FBAU  v.  YBURG  (sighing). 

Yes. 

EBELING. 

The  divorce  was  granted  yesterday  morning. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 
Yes,  I  know. 

EBELING. 

Well,  aren't  you  pleased? 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

My  dear  Heir  Ebeling,  my  heart  is  so  full  of  gratitude — 
really,  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you — for  myself  and 
also  for  my  poor,  dear  child.  But  I'm  so  helpless — so  per- 
plexed— I  really  don't  know — I 

EBELING. 
Why,  what  can  be  wrong? 

FRAU  v.  YLURG. 
Yes — just  fancy — well,  then — she  won't  do  it  I 

EBELING  (astonished). 
What's  that? 

[60] 


MARGOT 

FKAU  v.  YBUKG. 
Think  of  the  monstrosity  of  it!    She  won't  do  it. 

EBELING. 
Has  she  been  notified  that  the  divorce  has  been  granted  ? 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Yesterday — just  after  the  proceedings — Baron  von 
Kanoldt — came — with  his  proposal. 

EBELING. 
H'm! — quicker  than  I  had  expected. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

My  husband,  of  course,  was  simply  thunderstruck. 
One  can  surely  sympathise  with  him — von  Kanoldt — a 
man  in  the  forties — divorced — with  grown  children — and 
such  a  reputation !  But  when  he  saw  that  I  took  the  man's 
part — I  had  to  do  that,  didn't  I? 

EBELING. 
That  was  our  only  course. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Then  his  position,  his  wealth,  his  connections  at  court — 
oh,  yes,  and  naturally  our  long  friendship —     Of  course, 
my  husband  doesn't  surmise  what  this  man  did  to  her!     In 
the  end,  he  agreed  that  Margot  herself  should  decide. 
[61] 


MARGOT 

EBELJNO. 

Well,  and— ?    What ? 

FRAU  v.  YBURO. 
She  came,  looked  him  quietly  in  the  face,  and  asked  for 

time  to  think  it  over. 

EBELING. 

It  seems  to  me  your  husband  was  very  clever.  Other- 
wise, he  might  perhaps  have 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Yes,  but  when  we  were  alone,  just  fancy!  she  declared 
quite  simply:  "No,  I  won't  do  it."  I  exclaimed,  "Why, 
my  dear  child,  you're  out  of  your  mind!  You  know  that 
we've  done  everything  for  the  sake  of  this  day!"  "Yes,  I 
know  all  about  it — but  I  won't."  "You've  been  wishing  it 
for  three  years,"  I  said  to  her.  And  what  do  you  suppose 
she  answered!  "I  never  wished  it.  You  talked  it  into  me — 

and  he." 

EBELJNO. 

"He?"    Pardon  me,  who? 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 
You,  Herr  Ebeling. 

EBELING  (standing  up  in  his  excitement). 
My  dear  lady,  it  was  my  duty  to  carry  out  what  you  and 
Fraulein  Margot  desired — and  what,  in  short,  the  circum- 
stances demanded. 

[62] 


MARGOT 

FRAU  v.  YBURO, 

Oh,  I  know!  My  God,  how  well  I  realise  it!  And  what 
a  task  you've  accomplished!  No — when  I  remember  how 
much  persuasion,  how  much  subtle  reasoning,  how  much 
—  Ah,  and  how  I've  suffered  these  three  years!  See,  my 
hair  is  quite  gray! — And  I  still  can't  understand  it!  I 
still  look  upon  the  girl  as  if  she  were  a  stranger,  a  mys- 
terious being  who  has  lost  her  way  and  accidentally  come 
to  me.  I — I  who  was  brought  up  so  strictly,  watched,  and 
carefully  tended  all  my  life,  kept  worlds  away  from  any 
taint  of  the  unconventional —  And  she,  too —  No,  on 
that  point,  I  can't  reproach  myself.  And  yet — this  horror! 
No,  I  shall  never,  never  understand  it !  Ah,  and  to  have  to 
bear  it  all  alone !  Oh,  yes,  I  had  to  do  that.  My  husband, 
with  his  long  army  training,  would  have  forced  him  to 
fight — and  then  we  should  all  have  been  dragged  in  the 
dust.  Margot's  life — our  position  in  society — everything! 
Ah,  if  you  hadn't  been  here,  Herr  Ebeling!  Do  you  re- 
member how  I  came  to  you  ?  I  think  I  was  half  dead  from 
wretchedness!  With  the  letter  to  him  in  my  hand,  the 
letter  that  I  had  taken  from  her  as  she  lay  distracted  in  my 
arms !  Do  you  remember  ? 

EBELING. 

Oh,  don't  speak  of  it!    As  I  read  that  handwriting — • 
still  so  childish — and  that  helpless,  stammering  question: 
[63] 


MARGOT 

"What  has  happened  to  me?" — God  knows,  everything 
turned  black  before  my  eyes!    Oh!  it's  too  horrible! 

FRAU  v.  YBUKG. 

And  then  you  yourself  said  to  me,  "You're  right — the 
blackguard  must.  I'll  make  him." 

EBELING. 

I  said  it  in  the  heat  of  the  first  great  5ndignat:on.  Please 
take  that  into  consideration.  After  I  went  to  work,  1 
religiously  kept  to  my  programme  to  leave  all  threats  and 
violence  out  of  the  question.  Not  only  because  the  way 
I'm  constituted  that  sort  of  fighting  would  be  impossible, 
but  also  because  I  had  to  keep  in  mind  that  a  new  life — • 
I  don't  venture  to  say  a  happy  one — was  to  be  gained 
through  me.  To-day,  every  one  is  grateful  to  me — even 
the  one  who  at  first  opposed  me  most  violently — that  poor, 
wretched  wife. 

FRAU  v.  YBUBG. 

And  now  everything  would  have  been  forgiven.  I  can't 
understand  it.  I  don't  know — I 

EBELING. 
So  she  won't  do  it  ? 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

And  that's  why  I've  fled  to  you  in  my  need!     Later, 
when  she  returns,  I  want  to  have  gone.    You  understand  ? 
[64] 


MARGOT 

I've  arranged  it  this  way  so  that  you  could  bring  her  to  her 
senses.  A  little  heart  to  heart  talk,  you  know.  But  if 
your  influence  doesn't  help,  then  I  don't  know — then 

EBELING  (walking  up  and  down). 
And  so  she  won't  do  it. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Yes,  just  explain  it  to  me!  The  only  possible  way  in 
which  to  rehabilitate  herself  in  her  own  eyes!  And  she 
throws  it  to  the  winds!  What  can  she  be  thinking  of? 

What 

EBELING. 

And  so  she  won't  do  it! 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 
What's  come   over   you,   Herr  Ebeling?     You're    not 

listening ! 

EBELING  (firmly,  quietly}. 

Very  well,  then  she  shall  not. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 
For  God's  sake!    You,  too!    You,  too,  want 


EBELING. 

My  dear  friend,  I  have  done  all  that  lay  in  my  power, 
often  against  my  own  convictions,  I  can  assure  you.     She 
knows  what  she  is  doing.    She  will  not.    Very  well.    I'm 
[65] 


MARGOT 

not  here  to  bait  her  to  her  ruin.    I  am  very  sorry,  but  this 
time  I  must  refuse  my  assistance. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

But  what  will  happen?  Must  all  our  work  count  for 
nothing — your  work,  my  work?  For  I  have  worked 
over  her  with  all  my  powers,  I  need  not  hesitate  to  say 
it,  worked  to  place  her  again  on  those  spiritual  heights 
where  a  young  girl  of  family  by  right  belongs.  I  have  led 
her  back  to  Religion,  for  whoever  has  anything  to  expiate 
must  possess  Religion.  I  have  read  with  her  only  the  most 
carefully  selected  books,  books  that  could  never,  never 
endanger  a  young  girl's  imagination.  And  I  have  taken 
special  care  to  see  to  it  that  when  she  was  in  the  company 
of  young  people,  she  should,  if  possible,  be  stricter  and 
even  more  reserved  than  the  most  timid  of  her  friends. 
For  her  need  of  such  behaviour  was  double  theirs,  wasn't 
it  ?  And  you  yourself  will  admit  that  my  efforts  have  been 
successful.  No  one  could  deny  it  and  look  into  those 
clear,  steadfast  eyes  of  hers.  (EBELING  nods  assent.) 
She  has  become  all  soul — all 

EBELING  (doubtingly,  sadly). 
Ah! 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Yes,  indeed,  Herr  Ebeling.     No  clandestine,  no  un- 
seemly wish  finds  its  way  into  her  heart.    I'll  vouch  for 
[66] 


MARGOT 

that.    She  glides  through  life  like  a  silent  spirit,  cleansed 
and  purified. 

EBELING. 

And  therefore  we  are  to  throw  her  into  the  jaws  of  that 
beast. 

FRAU  v.  YBURQ. 
Is  there  any  other  way  ?    Do  you  know  of  any  ? 

EBELING  (tormented). 
H'm!     She  certainly  has  suitors  enough! 

FRAU  v.  YBUEG. 

She'll  reject  them  all — as  she  has  heretofore.  She  sim- 
ply says,  "  I  shall  not  begin  my  new  life  with  a  lie.  I  think 
too  much  of  myself  for  that.  And  to  confess,  to  tell  the 
man,  and  have  him  turn  his  back  on  me,  or  out  of  pure 
pity  raise  me  to  his  own  level — I  think  entirely  too  much 
of  myself  for  that." 

EBELING. 
I  believe  one  can  readily  appreciate  her  feelings. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

But  what  will  become  of  her  ?  Is  she  to  wither  and  wear 
away — this  heavenly  young  creature  ?  (EBELING  walks 
about,  growing  more  and  more  excited.  A  pause.)  Herr 
Ebeling,  speak!  Advise  me! 

[67] 


MARGOT 

EBELING  (firmly). 
I  know  of  only  one  solution:  she  must  choose  some  one 

who  knows  it. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Who  could  that  be — except ? 

EBELING  (breathing  heavily"). 
Except  that  man,  there  is  only  one  other. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

(Stares  at  him  uncomprehendingly  with  her  hands 
clasped,  then  stammering.}  Oh! — oh,  God!  What  a  joy 

that  would  be! 

EBELING. 

What  more  can  I  say  ?  Such  things  come  and  grow 
great  in  a  man,  one  knows  not  how.  She  bore  her  sorrow, 
her  shame,  I  mine.  At  first,  perhaps,  it  was  no  more  than 
a  casual  fancy — no,  an  interest,  for  my  inclinations  were 
always  involved — but  to-day  it  has  become  a  passion,  a 
passion  that,  lonely  man  as  I  am,  gnaws  me  to  the  very 
core  of  my  being. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

But  how  have  you  managed  through  it  all  to  keep  so 
quiet,  so  deliberate,  so ? 

EBELING. 

One  learns,  little  by  little,  to  be  master  of  oneself.    And 
five  minutes  ago  there  was  absolutely  no  hope,  (bursting 
[68] 


MARGOT 

out)  but  if  she  no  longer  wants  him — why  shouldn't  I — oh! 
(Hides  his  face  in  his  hand,  trembling  with  emotion.) 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Wait!  I  don't  see,  after  you've  led  him  on  to  this  point, 
how  you'll  ever  justify  all  this  to  Baron  von  Kanoldt. 

EBELING. 

I  don't  know!  Until  now,  I've  led  a  tolerably  respectable 
life.  For,  in  the  disgrace  that  she  (pointing  to  the  picture  of 
his  wife)  brought  upon  me,  I  played  no  part. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 
Oh,  yes,  everyone  in  society  knows  that. 

EBELING. 

But  I  haven't  once  asked  myself  whether  what  I  am 
now  going  to  do — or  should  like  to  do — conforms  to  the 
prevailing  standards  of  propriety.  One  would  have  to 
keep  it  secret,  to  let  some  time  elapse — in  short,  I  don't 
know!  All  I  can  say  is  that  if  she  doesn't  want  him,  if 
she  won't  take  that — (checking  himself) — him,  well,  then, 
the  path  is  open  to  any  one — to  me  as  well  as  to  another. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG  (hesitating). 

I  feel  that  I  ought  to  warn  you  of  just  one  thing  more. 
She  has  never  seemed  to  consider  you  as  anything  more 
than  a  fatherly  sort  of  friend. 
[69] 


MARGOT 

EBELING. 
H'm!  (Laughs  bitterly.)    Even  though  I'm  a  couple  of 

years  younger  than ,  I've  certainly  acted  more  like  a 

father  to  her.     But  you're  probably  right.     (Knocking.) 
Come  in.    (BONATH  enters.) 

BONATH. 

I've  let  the  clerks  go  home.  Have  you  any  further  orders, 
Herr  Ebeling? 

EBELING. 
You  can  go,  too,  Bonath.    But  tell  my  man  to  answer 

the  door. 

BONATH. 

Very  well,  Herr  Ebeling.  Good  evening.  (BONATH  goes 
out.) 

EBELING. 

Frau  von  Yburg,  your  daughter  will  return  in  a  few  min- 
utes. Meanwhile,  the  scene  has  changed  not  altogether  in- 
significantly. Do  you  still  approve  of  that  little  private 
heart  to  heart  talk — or  not  ? 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

Ah,  my  dear  friend,  I  have  such  boundless  confidence  in 
you.  You've  been  her  good  angel  for  so  long.  I  don't 
hesitate  for  a  moment  to  leave  her  in  your  hands.  And 

you'll  carefully  observe  all  the  conventions?    Of  course 
you  will. 

[70] 


M  A  R  G  O  T 

EBELING. 
But  what  can  I  say  to  her? 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

You're  so  skilled  in  reading  the  heart.  You'll  have 
found  a  way  to  make  her  confess  something  before  she's 
aware  of  it.  Only  let  me  beg  of  you — if  you  find  nothing 
in  what  she  says  that  gives  you  reason  to  hope,  then  please 
don't  worry  her.  She  has  already  suffered  so  much. 

EBELING. 

Very  well,  then,  I'll  proceed  upon  the  assumption  that  I 
have  only  to  comply  with  the  request  {hat  brought  you  to 

me  to-day. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

If  you  would 

EBELING. 

Hush!  (Listens  at  the  door,  then  pointing  to  the  right.) 
May  I  ask  you  to  go  out  this  door  ?  You  know  your  way. 

FRAU  v.  YBURG. 

And  please,  please,  spare  her  delicacy.  You've  no  idea 
how  pure  she  is — in  spite  of 

EBELING. 

If   I   didn't   know  that —    (Knocking.    He  opens  the 

door,  right.)     Good-bye. 

(FRAU  v.  YBURG  goes  out.) 

[71] 


MARGOT 

EBELING. 
Come  in. 

THE  SERVANT. 

A  young  lady  is  outside.  She  wants  to  know  whether 
her  mother  is  still  here. 

EBELING. 

(Hurrying  to  the  centre  door — vivaciously?)  Just  fancy 
Fraulein  Margot,  your  mother  thought  you'd  no  longer  be 
coming,  and  has  only  just  left.  (MARGOT  appears  at  the 
centre  door,  and  stands  there,  hesitating.)  But  won't  you 
come  in  for  a  few  moments  ? 

MARGOT. 

Gladly,  if  I  may.  (Looking  about  irresolutely.)  Only  I 
don't  know  whether  I 

EBELING. 
What,  my  dear  child  ? 

MARGOT. 
It  isn't  usually  mamma's  way  to  go  off  without  me. 

EBELING. 

Then  I'll  take  you  home  myself.     You  need  have  n« 

fears. 

MARGOT. 

Oh,  I'm  not  afraid. 

[72] 


MARGOT 

EBELINQ  (inviting  her  to  sit  down). 

Won't  you ? 

MARGOT. 

I'd  like  to  look  around  a  bit  first;  may  I?     I  couldn't 

a  while  ago. 

EBELING. 

I'm  only  too  happy  to  think  that  you  take  some  interest 

in  my  home. 

MARGOT. 

Dear  me,  mamma  has  so  often  told  me  about  it.  Of 
late  years  her  visits  to  you  were  our  principal  topic  of  con- 
versation. I  think  I've  known  every  tiny  nook  here  for  a 

long,  long  time. 

EBELING. 
Really  ? 

MARGOT. 

Oh,  there's  the  stand  with  the  horrible  law  books! 
(Sighing.)  Ah,  Herr  Ebeling,  everything  in  life  is  Law — • 
and  everything  is  in  books. 

EBELING. 
My  dear  young  girl,  the  hardest  laws  are  never  to  be 

found  in  books. 

MARGOT. 

Yes,  you  are  right.  The  laws  that  drag  us  down  to 
destruction  are  the  laws  that  we  make  for  ourselves.  And 
all  those  beautiful  women!  I  suppose  one  must  be  very 
beautiful  to  join  them? 

[73] 


MARGOT 

EBELING  (parrying  lightly). 

Most  of  them  are  clients  who  have  presented  me  with 
their  pictures  as  a  token  of  gratitude. 

MARGOT. 

Well,  but  I'm  your  client,  too — and  yet  I  should  never 
dare  to  offer  you  my  picture  in  that  way. 

EBELING. 

If  you  only 

MARGOT  (startled). 

Oh,  and  there's  your —     (Looks  at  him  questioningly, 

confused.) 

EBELING. 

Yes,  that's  my  former  wife. 

MARGOT. 

I  saw  her  only  once  in  my  life.    I  was  a  mere  child  then. 
She  was  very  lovely. 

EBELING. 
Yes,  she  was  lovely. 

MARGOT. 

Oh,  and  the  wonder — wonderful  roses!     Mamma  has 
told  me  that  you  always  have  such  lovely  roses. 

EBELING  (lightly). 

Yes,  I  have  an  agreement  with  a  gardener.    He  keeps 
me  supplied. 

[74] 


M  A  R  G  O  T 

MARGOT  (seemingly  convinced). 
Oh! 

EBELING. 

May  I  present  them  to  you,  Fraulein  Margot  ? 

MARGOT. 

Oh,  dear  me,  no.     The  gardener  who  keeps  you  supplied 
might  be  offended. 

EBELING  (laughing). 
As  you  wish. 

MARGOT. 

And  this  is  the  inquisitional  chair — where  the  poor 
secrets  are  dragged  out? 

EBELING. 

Quite  the  contrary!    The  secrets  come  forth  of  their  own 
accord.     I  always  have  to  say  "stop." 

MARGOT. 

Well,  then,  I  needn't  hesitate  to  sit  down.     (Does  so.) 
My  secret  you  know — (sighing) — only  too  well! 

EBELING. 

My  dear  Fraulein  Margot;  the  real  secret  of  your  life, 
the  law  that  governs  your  thoughts  and  feelings,  I  believe 
no  one  knows — not  even  your  mother. 
[75] 


MARGOT 

MARGOT  (smiling  and  shrugging  her  shoulders). 
My  good  mamma!    And  I'm  here  to  give  you  proofs  ai 
that  fact,  am  I  ? 

EBELJNG  (evasively). 
Oh! 

MARGOT. 

The  reason  for  my  being  here  isn't  the  one  you've  given 

me. 

EBELING. 

Indeed}    What  is  it  ? 

MARGOT. 

I  wasn't  left  here  alone  for  nothing!  Please  go  ahead, 
Herr  Ebeling,  do  your  duty  and  talk  me  nicely  into  marry- 
ing Baron  von — (shudders).  See? — I've  never  once  been 
able  to  bring  his  name  to  my  lips.  And  yet  I'm  to  pass  my 
whole  life  with  that  man'.  Can  one  picture  anything  more 
horrible  ?  (Shudders  again.)  Do  you  know  of  any  occu 
pation  for  me,  Heir  Ebeling  ? 

EBELING. 
Occupation  ?    Why  ? 

MARGOT. 
I  want  to  leave  home. 

EBELINO 

Is  that  your  earnest  intention  ? 
[76] 


MARGOT 

MARGOT  (nods). 

But,  unfortunately,  I've  learned  nothing.  And  then — 
t  has  to  be  an  occupation  that  wouldn't  humiliate  me — • 
ind  that  wouldn't  spoil  my  hands  (takes  off  her  gloves), 
for  I  love  my  hands.  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  my  face,  but 
my  hands — they're  like  two  friends.  I  can  keep  up  long 
conversations  with  them — especially  with  the  left.  That 
one's  so  weak.  So,  something  that  wouldn't  spoil  the 
hands — and  would  leave  me  time  for  reading — and — well, 
I  want  to  be  alone. 

EBELING. 

I  might  have  suggested  nursing,  even  though  it  requires 
the  constant  use  of  the  hands.    But,  of  course,  you'd  never 

be  alone. 

MARGOT. 

No.    I  have  no  love  for  my  fellow-creatures.    I  don't 
want  to  do  anything  for  them. 

EBELING. 
Those  are  hard  words,  Fraulein  Margot. 

MARGOT. 

I  am  hard.    What  have  my  fellow-creatures  ever  done 

for  me? 

EBELING. 

And — your  parents? 

[77] 


MARGOT 

MARGOT. 

You  refer  to  mamma?  Mamma  certainly  means  well. 
But  mamma  has  torn  my  soul  from  my  body.  She  has 
made  use  of  the  old  principle  of  family  rule — which  may 
have  had  some  sense  in  the  Stone  Age — and  has  turned  me 
into  a  doll,  a  doll-creature  that  moves  its  eyes  and  says  ba 
when  you  press  its  head. — Just  watch,  Herr  Ebeling! — 
Now  haven't  I  a  touching  fashion  of  casting  up  my  eyes 
when  I  look  at  you  in  this  simple,  thoughtful,  innocent 
way  ? — And  when  I  let  the  lids  fall  again  in  all  the  bashful 
piety  that  I  still  can  muster — isn't  it  simply  sweet  ? 

EBELING  (earnestly). 
My  dear  young  girl,  I  really  believe  I  must  begin  to 

say  "stop"  now! 

MARGOT. 

Dear  me!  You're  already  disgusted  with  me!  But  if 
you  had  any  idea — do  you  know  what  you'd  think  ?  "  Pity 
that  I  wasted  such  pains  on  a  creature  like  her!" 

EBELING. 

I  should  never  think  that,  my  dear  child.  I  should  only 
pity  you  and  love  you  the  more. 

MARGOT. 

I  don't  want  to  be  pitied!     And  loved?     (Shakes  her 
head.)     At  least  not  that  way — and  not  the  other,  either. 
That's  still  stupider.     When  I  listen  to  my  friends — this 
[78] 


MARGOT 

one  loves  me,  and  that  one  loves  me,  and  this  one  kept  my 
glove,  and  that  one  kissed  my  handkerchief — ugh!  It  re- 
minds me  of  the  cackling  of  a  lot  of  hens.  Herr  Ebeling, 
do  you  believe  criminals  are  scornful? 

EBELING. 
Why  do  you  ask? 

MARGOT. 
Please  answer. 

EBELING. 

It's  very  often  true  of  born  criminals. 

MARGOT. 
Well,  then,  I've  the  criminal  nature. 

EBELING  (laughing  against  his  will). 
Tut,  tut,  my  dear  child,  why  so — all  of  a  sudden  ? 

MARGOT. 

Because  I  inwardly  shrug  my  shoulders  at  everything 
that  goes  by  the  name  of  Innocence.  I  keep  thinking  to 
myself,  "You  silly  sheep,  what  do  you  know  about  it  ?" — 
Ah,  and  yet,  I  envy  them!  At  the  balls,  I  see  everything 
as  through  a  veil.  The  things  that  the  men  chatter  about 
sound  far,  far  away — oceans  off.  I  always  feel  like  saying, 
"Don't  trouble  about  me.  Go  to  that  girl  over  there. 
She's  stupid  enough."  And  then — after  I've  come  home — 
I  weep,  weep  from  sheer  envy  and  utter  boredom,  weep 
[79] 


MARGOT 

until  I  have  to  turn  my  pillow. — And  mamma  ?     Mamma 
drags  me  from  ball  to  ball:  I  mustn't  be  unlike  the  others, 

you  know! 

EBELING. 

My  dear  child,  if  this  goes  against  your  nature,  why  don't 
you  make  some  resistance  ?  Why  don't  you  show  your 
mother  that  you  have  thoughts  and  feelings  of  your  own 
which  must  be  respected  ? 

MARGOT. 

Ah,  my  dear  Herr  Ebeling,  just  be  a  whipped  dog  your- 
self, year  in  year  out!  The  dog  doesn't  resist  either — but 
suddenly,  some  day — when  he's  at  the  very  end  of  his 
endurance — he  bites  his  master's  hand.  I  shall  bite  soon! 

EBELING. 

Oh,  I'll  grant  you  that  your  mother  has  probably  made 
some  mistakes.  But  only  out  of  love,  or  because  she  knew 
no  better.  Just  ask  yourself  what  would  have  become  of 
you  if  you'd  been  left  to  yourself  all  this  time  ? 

MARGOT. 

I  should  have  been  embittered  just  the  same — you're 
right — but  I  should  not  have  let  myself  fall. 

EBELING. 
Who  knows? 

[80] 


MARGOT 

MAHGOT. 

Never!  And  I'll  tell  you  something  to  prove  it.  Se- 
verely as  I  have  been  watched — and — surely  there's 
nothing  coquettish  about  me  ? 

EBELING. 
Certainly  not. 

MARGOT. 

You  can  believe  me  when  I  say  that,  in  the  general 
moral  tone  prevailing  over  our  society  just  now — and  of 
which  our  mothers  naturally  know  nothing — there  lurks  a 
temptation  which  has  over  and  over  again  enticed  even  me. 
Such  things  are  so  personal,  so  secret — one  cannot  describe 
them.  Oh,  I  could  have  done  whatever  I  wished!  But  I 
said  to  myself:  the  first  time,  you  were  ignorant,  you  were 
sacrificed — or,  at  least,  you  can  make  yourself  believe  that 
you  were  sacrificed — but  if  ever  again — no,  I  can't  say  it 

after  all! 

EBELING. 

I  understand,  my  child. 

MARGOT. 

If  ever  again — then  you'll  be  lost — forever!  Then  there 
can  be  no  more  ideals,  no  more  poetry — nothing  lofty — 
nothing  for  which  to  work — and,  worst  of  all,  nothing  of 
which  to  dream.  For  to  dream — ah,  one  must  dream, 

mustn't  one  ?    When  one  no  longer  has  that ! 

[81] 


MARGOT 

EBELING  (moved). 

Yes,  dear  child. 

MARGOT. 

But  you  mustn't  think  that  I'm  trying  to  make  myself 
interesting,  or  that  I  stand  here  before  you  beautifully 
whitened  and  purified !  Oh,  no !  What  I'm  going  to  say  to 
you  now  has  never  been  said  to  any  one,  to  any  man  be- 
fore. And  you  are  going  to  despise  me  utterly.  But  I 
must  say  it — once,  once  in  my  life — and  then  the  old  hypoc- 
risy can  go  on  again.  Well,  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but 
it's  like  a  fire  in  me.  No,  worse,  much  worse!  When  I 
think  of  that  frightful  man,  my  heart  fairly  shrivels  up. 
And  yet — I  can  never  get  away  from  it.  There's  always  a 
terror,  a  horror  in  me;  and  yet  there  is  always  an  eternal — 
an  eternal  hunger.  Yes — a  restlessness — a  search — the 
whole  day  long.  It's  strongest  toward  twilight.  Then  I 
want  to  go  out — out  into  the  wide  world — to  fly  to  un- 
known lands.  Then  I  think  to  myself — out  there,  no  one 
knows  you;  out  there,  there  is  no  sin.  Ah,  it's  as  if  I  were 
lashed !  And  I  heap  such  reproaches  upon  myself  because 
of  it!  Even  now  you  have  not  heard  the  worst.  I  must 
tell  you  the  worst,  too.  Well,  you  know  how  I  hate  that 
man — yet,  sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  I  must  go  to  him 
and  say  to  him — Behold,  here  I  am  again! 

EBELING  (jumps  up,  muttering  to  himself). 
What  has  he  done  ?    The  scoundrel!    The  blackguard! 
[82] 


MARGOT 

MARGOT. 

There!  Now  you  know  on  whom  you've  wasted  your 
sympathy!  Now  I  can  go.  (Stands  up,  snatches  her 
muff,  and  prepares  to  leave.) 

EBELING. 

(Who  has  been  silently  walking  up  and  down — more 
hotly.}  It  appears  then  that  you  still — love — that  man. 

MARGOT  (with  a  short,  cutting  laugh). 
Oh,  Herr  Ebeling,  if  you've  gathered  that  from  all  I've 
said,  the.n  I  might  just  as  well  have  addressed  myself  to  the 
four  walls.  I've  been  hoping  for  three  long  years  that  you 
would  secretly  manage  the  thing  in  such  a  way  that  I'd 
never  have  to  see  him  again  in  all  my  life — never,  never — 
not  even  from  a  distance. 

EBELING. 

Why  did  you  never  confide  in  me  before  ?  Why  to-day 
for  the  first  time  ? 

MARGOT. 

Can  one  do  such  a  thing  ?  Is  one  ever  allowed  to  ?  I'm 
a  well-bred  young  girl,  you  know.  I  must  observe  the 
conventions.  How  I  came  to  do  it  to-day,  I  don't  know 
myself.  But  formerly  when  you  were  alone  with  me,  did 
you  ever,  at  any  time,  give  me  to  understand,  even  by  a 
[83] 


MARGOT 

glance,  that  you — you  knew  anything — about  me?  Do 
you  think  such  an  attitude  gives  one  courage  ?  Ah,  and  in 
my  need  I've  prayed  so  often,  "  Dear  God,  let  him  see  into 
my  soul!  If  he  doesn't  free  me,  no  one  will."  Instead, 
you've  only  plunged  me  the  deeper — pushed  me  before 
you — always  deeper  into  misery — into  the  arms  of  that 
beast — into  the  filth.  (Sinks  into  a  chair,  sobbing.) 

EBELINO. 

(Regards  her  confusedly,  then  approaches  her.)  Dear 
child!  That  wasn't  my  intention!  (Laying  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder  caressingly.)  My  dear,  dear  child! 

MARGOT. 

(Grasps  his  hand,  and  presses  her  cheek  to  it.  As  he 
tries  to  free  it,  she  holds  it  the  more  closely.)  Oh,  don't 
leave  me.  I'm  so  lonely! 

EBELING. 

My  dear,  dear  child.  (He  bends  down  to  her  and  kisses 
her  on  the  brow.  She  throws  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
draws  herself  close  to  him.  He  kisses  her  lips.  She  lets 
her  head  fall  heavily  upon  his  shoulder  and  remains  motion- 
less while  he  caresses  her  gently.  With  a  sudden  impulse 
she  flings  him  from  her,  and  sinks  back  in  the  chair.)  Mar- 
got,  my  darling.  Have  I  hurt  you  ?  Are  you  offended  at 

[84] 


M  A  R  G  O  T 

what  I  did  ?     If  I've  misunderstood,  if  I  have  abused  your 
confidence,  I  earnestly  beg  you  to  forgive  me. 

MARGOT. 
Oh,  I've  so  hungered — so  hungered — for  this — kiss! 

EBELING  (turning  eagerly  toward  her). 
Margot ! 

MARGOT  (warding  him  off). 

No!     Go  away!     Go  away! 

EBELING. 
But  you  don't  refuse  me  ?     And  I'm  not  too  old  ? 

MARGOT  (passionately  bursting  into  laughter). 

Oh! 

EBELING. 

I  was  never  free  from  the  fear  that  you  might  not  see 
anything  in  me  except  an  image  of  that  wasted,  old  crea- 
ture. (Instead  of  answering,  MARGOT  stretches  out  her 
arms  to  him  with  a  soft  cry  of  longing.  EBELING  draws  the 
low  stool  to  the  ivriting-chair  on  which  she  is  sitting,  sits 
down  upon  it,  and  embraces  her.)  Margot,  my  youth,  my 
whole  youth  that  I've  squandered  and  frittered  away 
comes  back  to  me  once  more  through  you.  And  now  all 
will  be  well  with  you,  too.  It  was  only  a  nightmare.  Your 
true  self  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Only — you  must  take 
heart  again — you  must  think  of  yourself  now. 
[851 


M  A  R  G  O  T 

MARGOT  (ecstatically). 

Yes,  I  am  equal  to  anything  now.  I  am  not  afraid  to 
face  the  worst.  I  can  even  marry  that  man.  I  shall  send 
him  my  acceptance  quite  calmly. — Of  course.  Why  not  ? 

EBELING  (slwcked). 
What! 

MARGOT. 

Why  should  you  be  astonished  at  that?  Now  that  I 
know  you  love  me  ?  Only  for  a  year !  Perhaps  for  two ! 
Yes,  two!  Oh,  please,  two!  Then,  later,  when  you've 
left  me,  let  others  come!  It's  all  the  same,  who!  For 
marriage,  of  course,  I'm  entirely  spoiled!  But  I'll  be 
revenged  on  him!  On  him  and  on  Virtue  and  on  Loyalty 
and  on  all  that  stuff  with  which  they've  so  long  tormented 
me.  And  the  evening  before  my  wedding — then  may  I — 
come  to  you  again?  Toward  twilight!  It  must  be  on  a 
Sunday.  I'll  arrange  for  that,  so  we  can  be  alone.  Ah, 
I  shall  count  the  days  till  then!  Why  do  you  look  at  me 
like  that  ?  (EBELING  stands  up  and  throws  himself  on  the 
sofa,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands.  A  long  pause.)  What 
can  I  have  done  ?  (She  stands  up.  Another  pause.) 
Surely  I  haven't  done  you  any  wrong  by  loving  you  ? 

EBELING. 

Go  home  now,  my  child. 

[861 


MARGOT 

MARGOT. 

I  wanted  to  leave  some  time  ago,  but  you  made  me  stay. 
(She  buttons  her  coat,  throws  on  her  boa,  and  is  about  to  go 
out.  Then  she  turns  around  resolutely,  and  places  herself 
before  him.)  Oh,  I  know — I'm  disgraced — I'm  not  worthy 
of  anything  better — ;  but  I  needn't  have  had  to  endure 
such  scorn  and  contempt!  (EBELING  rises,  looks  at  her, 
groans,  buries  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  falls  back  into 
the  chair.  MARGOT  kneels  beside  him,  weeping.)  Dear — • 
dearest — what  is  it  ?  What's  wrong,  my  darling  ? 

EBELING  (compelling  himself  to  be  composed). 

Stand  up!  (She  does  so.)  I  am  going  to  tell  you. 
(Stands  up  himself.)  I  asked  your  mother's  consent  to 
my  marrying  you  to-day.  There,  now  you  know  it. 
Good-bye.  (Sits  down  in  the  writing-chair.  A  pause.) 

MARGOT. 

(Does  not  move.     Her  face  becomes  hard  and  bitter.) 

And  now  that  you  see  what  sort  I  am H'm,  yes.     Ah, 

well,  you'll  soon  console  yourself.  There  are  so  many 
others.  Why  should  it  be  just  I  ?  Let  me  suggest  one  of 
my  friends — a  dear — a  pretty  girl — with  white  teeth.  Why 
take  it  to  heart  ?  It  hurts  for  the  moment — but  one  easily 
forgets.  Such  girls  as  I  deserve  nothing  better.  To  them 
— one  does  this!  (Plucks  the  petals  from  the  roses  which 
[87] 


MARGOT 

are  standing  before  her  in  the  vase.)     And  then  one  throws 
them  away — like  this!     (Throws  the  petals  in  his  face.) 

EBELING  (brushing  away  the  petals). 
What  have  the  roses  done  to  you,  my  child  ? 

MARGOT. 
I  sent  them  to  you.     I,  too,  may  destroy  them. 

EBELING  (springing  up). 
It  was  you,  you  who  all  these  years ? 

MARGOT. 
Good  evening,  Herr  Ebeling.     (She  goes  out.) 

EBELING. 

(Pauses  for  a  moment  irresolutely,  struggling  with  him- 
self, then  hurries  after  her.  His  voice  is  heard.)  Stay 
here!  Stay  here!  Come  in  here!  (He  reappears  at  the 
centre  door,  pulling  her  by  the  arm.)  Come  in  here!  Come 

back! 

MARGOT. 

What  do  you  want  of  me  ?     I'll  cry  for  help 

EBELING. 
Come  here!     (Drags  her  to  the  writing-table.) 

MARGOT. 
Leave  me  alone! 

[88  ; 


MARGOT 

EBELING. 

Be  quiet!  Be  quiet!  (Picks  up  one  of  the  pictures 
standing  on  the  table.)  There!  That  woman  dragged  my 
name  in  the  gutter.  Will  you  do  the  same  ?  Answer  me ! 
(MARGOT  stands  motionless,  the  tears  running  down  her 
cheeks.)  Answer,  I  say. 

MARGOT  (slowly  and  heavily). 

Ah,  one  thinks  and  says  so  much  when  there's  no  longer 
a  particle  of  hope  in  one's  life. 

EBELING. 

I  understand.  (He  throws  the  picture  on  the  ground; 
frame  and  glass  are  dashed  to  pieces.)  Let  us  go  to  your 
parents.  We'll  arrange  with  them  what's  best  to  be  done. 
(As  she  doesn't  move.)  Well  ?  (MARGOT  shakes  her  head.) 
You  don't  want  to? 

MARGOT. 

Not  that  way!  As  I  am  now,  humiliated — mortified — 
disgraced — no,  not  that  way!  I  am  so  tired  of  playing 
Magdalen!  No!  When  I  come,  I'll  come  with  a  free 
step.  I'll  be  able  to  look  every  man  in  the  face!  But  I 
must  find  out  first  what  I  am  still  worth,  and  (looking  him 
full  in  the  face)  it  must  be  a  great,  great  deal — to  be  worthy 
of  you. 

[89] 


MARGOT 

EBELING  (moved). 
Give  me  your  hands,  dear. 

MARGOT  (doing  so). 

When  we  see  each  other  again,  they'll  be  red  and  ugly. 
(EBELING  kisses  her  hands  and  presses  them  to  his  face.) 
Good-bye.  (She  turns  to  go.) 

CUBTAIN. 


[90] 


Ill 

THE    LAST    VISIT 

A     PLAY      IN      ONE     ACT 


CHARACTERS 

THE  UNKNOWN  LADY. 

LIEUTENANT  VON  WOLTERS. 

MULBRIDGE,  a  horse-trainer. 

His  WIFE. 

DAISY,  their  daughter. 

KELLJERMANN. 

TEMPSKI,  an  orderly. 

A  GROOM. 

THE  PRESENT  DAY. 
The  scene  is  laid  in  a  large  German  garrison. 


THE    LAST    VISIT 

A  richly  furnished  room  which  bears  the  stamp  of  the 
military  tastes  of  its  owner.  In  the  background,  a  cur* 
tained  doorway  flanked  by  two  columns  wound  with  crape 
and  garlands  of  fir.  In  front  of  Hie  columns,  several  piles 
of  wreaths.  Doors  on  the  right  and  left.  In  the  fore- 
ground, on  the  right,  a  window.  Near  the  window,  a 
writing-table.  On  the  left,  a  sofa,  table,  and  chairs.  Mir- 
rors on  the  walls.  A  clock.  When  the  curtain  of  the  centre 
door  is  drawn  aside,  a  coffin  covered  with  wreaths  and 
flowers  is  indistinctly  t^isible. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  DAISY  MULBRIDGE  is  standing 
motionless,  looking  through  the  curtained  doorway  into  the 
room  behind.  She  is  a  very  young  girl,  with  blonde  hair, 
and  is  dressed  in  black.  The  sound  of  a  hammer  is  heard, 
and  with  each  stroke  she  winces  a  little,  though  betraying 
no  other  sign  of  emotion.  For  a  few  moments  there  is  no 
sound  except  the  voices  in  the  back  room.  Then  enter  slowly, 
one  by  one,  FRAU  MULBRIDGE,  MULBRIDGE,  TEMPSKI,  and 
the  GROOM.  FRAU  MULBRIDGE  is  a  simple,  middle-aged 
woman  dressed  in  black.  Her  husband  is  a  small,  wiry, 
smooth-faced  man  whose  hair  is  slightly  gray;  he  is  dressed 
in  his  stable  clothes.  TEMPSKI  wears  the  uniform  of  an 
Uhlan. 

[93] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Well,  now  we  have  seen  our  poor,  dear  captain  for  the 

last  time. 

MULBRIDGE. 

Yes.     He  was  a  good  fellow,  our  captain — and  awfully 

fond  of  horses. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Why,  Daisy,  what's  the  matter,  dear?  You've  been 
standing  here  all  alone,  and  yet,  until  now,  you  wouldn't 

stir  from  the  coffin. 

DAISY. 

I  saw  him  quite  well  from  here,  mother,  dear. 

MULBRIDGE  (caressing  her). 
My  girlie — my  little  girl.     Yes — we  all  loved  him. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

(To  TEMPSKI,  who  is  sobbing.)  There,  there,  Tempski, 
hush  now.  (A  bell  rings,  right.)  There's  the  bell;  go  and 
open  the  door.  (TEMPSKI  goes  out  at  the  right.) 

MULBRIDGE  (to  the  GROOM). 
And  we'll  be  off  to  the  stables! 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Sh!    The  Lieutenant! 

MULBRIDGE  (to  the  GROOM). 
Go  on!     (Pushes  the  GROOM  out,  left.) 
[94] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

(LIEUTENANT  VON  WOLTERS  enters.  He  is  an  attractive 
young  officer,  very  smart  in  appearance,  wearing  the  uni- 
form of  an  Uhlan.  KELLERMANN,  a  self-possessed,  sharp- 
eyed  man,  follows  him.  While  they  are  entering,  TEMPSKI 
comes  in  at  the  right,  quietly  places  a  wreath  on  one  of  the 
piles  near  the  columns,  and  goes  out  again.) 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Well,  Herr —     (He  puts  his  hand  to  his  eyes,  overcome 
for  the  moment,  then  stiffly,  trying  to  conceal  his  emotion.) 
Herr — Kellermann  was  the  name,  wasn't  it? 

KELLERMANN. 
At  your  service,  Lieutenant. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

You  have  done  everything  very  satisfactorily.  I  am 
much  obliged  to  you.  You  understand  that  the  removal 
of  the  coffin  to  the  church  is  to  be  accomplished  as  secretly 
as  possible. 

KELLERMANN. 

I'm  silent  as  the  grave,  Lieutenant.  My  business  sort  of 
carries  that  with  it,  don't  you  know. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

It  will  be  dark  about  half  past  five.    I  have  ordered  the 
troops  that  are  to  accompany  the  casket  to  be  here  at  half 
[95] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

past  six.    At  the  church — the  catafalque  and  the  rest — I 
can  confidently  leave  all  that  to  you  ? 

KELLERMANN. 

Most  assuredly,  Lieutenant.  I  shall  see  that  everything 
is  of  the  finest. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

But  remember  your  instructions:  all  superfluous  ostenta- 
tion is  to  be  rigorously  avoided — to-morrow  at  the  funeral 
procession,  also. 

KELLERMANN. 

I  understand,  Lieutenant — because  of  the  way  he  met 

his  death. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

The  reason  does  not  concern  you.     (Turns  to  go.) 

MULBRIDGE. 

Beg  pardon,  Lieutenant,  but  may  I  speak  to  you  ?  I've 
been  in  the  captain's  service  seven  years.  I've  been  in 
Germany  nearly  eighteen  years — have  a  German  wife  and 
daughter.  I'm  not  as  young  as  I  used  to  be.  What's  going 
to  become  of  the  horses  and  the  racing-stable,  and — the 
rest? 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Yes,  it's  really  too  bad  about  him,  Lieutenant.    He's  so 
fond  of  his  horses.    Why,  if  ever  you  want  to  speak  to  him, 
[96] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

you  have  to  go  and  stay  at  the  stable.    That's  the  only  way 
I  can  manage  to  see  him. 

MULBRIDGE. 

And  she's  a  great  help  to  me,  too,  Lieutenant. 

V.    WOLTERS. 

I  can  understand  your  anxiety,  Mulbridge.  The  captain 
spoke  about  you  on  our  last  journey  together.  He  especially 
commended  you  and  your  family  to  my  care.  But,  of 
course,  everything  will  depend  upon  the  heir. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
And  who  is  the  heir,  Lieutenant? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

No  one  knows. .  He  had  no  relatives.  But  be  assured 
that  whoever  it  is,  I  will  do  my  best  to 

MULBRIDGE. 

Thank  you,  Lieutenant!  Thank  you!  (He  says  a  few 
words  aside  to  his  wife  and  goes  out,  left.} 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Have  you  anything  else  to  do  here,  Heir  Kellermann  ? 

KELLERMANN. 

Yes,  indeed,  a  great  many  things,  Lieutenant.     (Goes 
out  at  the  centre,  carrying  several  wreaths,  and  then  returns 
for  more.    FRAU  MULBRIDGE  helps  him.) 
[97] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

V.  WOLTERS. 

Oh,  by  the  way,  may  I  have  a  word  with  you,  Daisy  ? 
(DAISY  comes  forward,  v.  WOLTERS  continues  aside  to  her.) 
My  dear  child,  I  know  that  the  captain  had  a  great  deal  of 

confidence  in  you. 

DAISY. 

Yes,  he  had. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Well  then,  listen.  Some  one  wishes  to  come  here  before 
the  casket  is  removed — some  one  who  must  not  be  seen. 

DAISY. 

Very  well.     She  may. 

v.  WOLTERS  (amazed). 
What ?    She ? 

DAISY. 
Why,  it  must  be  the  lady. 

v.  WOLTERS. 
What  lady? 

DAISY. 

The  lady  for  whom  he  let  himself  be  shot. 

v.  WOLTERS. 
What!    You  know ? 

DAISY. 

She  had  to  come,  of  course.     Who  else  should  it  be? 
[98] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

V.    WOLTERS. 

H'm!  Well  then,  listen  carefully.  If  the  undertaker — 
or  any  other  stranger — should  still  be  here  when  it  begins 
to  grow  dark,  throw  on  a  wrap  and  wait  at  the  door  down- 
stairs until  a  carriage  stops.  Will  you  ? 

DAISY. 
Certainly  I  will.  And  Tempski  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Yes,  Tempski,  faithful  as  he  is 

DAISY. 
Tempski  was  never  around  in  those  days. 

v.  WOLTERS  (looking  at  her  in  astonishment). 
Oh — so  Tempski — was  never — around — in  those  days! 
H'm!  Well  then,  I'll  undertake  to  get  rid  of  Tempski 
myself.  Thank  you,  my  child.  (Gives  her  his  hand,  then 
aloud.)  I  have  another  errand,  but  I'll  be  back  soon. 
(Goes  out  at  the  right.) 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
What  did  the  lieutenant  want  of  you  ? 

DAISY. 

Nothing  in  particular — something  about  the  wreaths. 
[99] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

KELLERMANN  (coming  in  from  the  back). 
Yes,  with  all  those  wreaths,  we'll  have  to  have  an  extra 
carriage  for  the  flowers.  He  was  a  fine  man,  he  was — a 
highly  respected  man!  And  on  horseback!  Why,  I've 
won  every  time  I  bet  on  him !  Ah,  yes,  but  sooner  or  later 
they  all  have  to  come  to  me! 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

And  he  was  such  a  kind  master!  He  was  just  like  a 
child  sometimes — so  light-hearted  and  happy — like  a  little 
boy!  Lately,  to  be  sure,  he —  (The  bell  rings.)  Well, 

Daisy! 

DAISY. 

(Who  has  stood  without  moving,  lost  in  thought.)  I 
suppose  Tempski  will  go. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Yes,  yes,  you're  right.    Tempski  is  outside. 

TEMPSKI  (brings  in  a  wreath,  sobbing). 
F-from — our — major. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Why,  Tempski,  it's  perfectly  natural  that  the  major • 

TEMPSKI. 
From — our — major. 

[100] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Take  the  wreath  from  him,  Daisy. 

DAISY. 

Yes,  mother,  dear.     (She  does  so.    TEMPSKI  goes  out, 
crying.) 

KELLERMANN  (reaching  for  the  wreath). 
From  his  major — that  must  go  on  the  coffin! 

DAISY. 
I'll  do  it. 

KELLERMANN  (in  doubt). 

Don't  you  think ? 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Yes,  let  her;  she  looks  after  everything. 

KELLERMANN. 

But  nail  it  tightly,  little  lady — else  it'll  fall  off  when 
they're  carrying  him  to  the  church. 

DAISY. 

Yes,  yes.    (Goes  out  back  with  the  wreath.    During  the 
follounng  conversation,  the  strokes  of  a  hammer  are  heard.) 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Everything  is  so  well  arranged  here.     I  don't  see  why 
they've  got  to  take  him  to  the  church. 
[101] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

KELLERMANN. 

The  official  statement  is  that  it  will  prevent  any  demon- 
stration in  the  street.  You  know,  the  town  folks  haven't 
taken  very  kindly  to  this  murdering  business  of  late.  But, 
of  course,  that's  not  the  real  reason.  The  truth  of  the  mat- 
ter is  that  several  very  influential  ladies  would  like  to  at- 
tend the  funeral  without  being  seen.  H'm! — love  never 
dies,  they  say.  Ah,  the  captain  was  no  saint,  I  can  tell 

you! 

FKAU  MULBRIDGE. 

What  do  you  know  about  it? 

KELLERMANN. 

Oh,  well,  there's  a  lot  of  talk  about  the  veiled  figures 
that  used  to  go  in  and  out  of  here  at  twilight.  And  if  these 
mirrors  could  speak — !  That  reminds  me — I'd  almost 
forgotten — we  must  cover  the  mirrors.  (DAISY  appears 
in  front  of  the  curtain.  She  is  staring  into  space.) 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

But  since  the  casket  is  to  be  taken  away  in  less  than  an 
hour — what's  the  use  ? 

KELLERMANN. 

That  doesn't  make  any  difference.  The  mirrors  have 
got  to  be  draped.  It  would  be  a  blemish  on  my  art — and  I 
wouldn't  answer  for  it. 

[102] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Daisy! 

DAISY. 

Yes,  mother,  dear. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Go  get  a  pair  of  lace  curtains  to  hang  over  the  mirrors. 

DAISY. 
Yes,  mother,  dear.     (She  does  not  stir.) 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Daisy!     You're  not  listening. 

DAISY. 
Yes  I  am,  mother,  dear.     You  asked  me  to —     (Falters.) 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
I  asked  you  to  fetch  a  pair  of  lace  curtains. 

DAISY. 
Yes,  mother,  dear.    (Goes  out,  left.) 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Now  that  the  child  isn't  here — tell  me,  Herr  Kellermann, 
do  you  know  anything  about  the  cause  of  the  duel  ?  We're 
all  groping  in  the  dark  here  at  the  house. 

KELLERMANN. 

Well,  they're  saying  all  sorts  of  things.  But  the  dead  are 
my  friends.  I  never  say  anything  against  them.  It's  a 
business  principle  with  me. 

[103] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Yes — but  the  man  who  shot  him,  is  he  still  walking 
around  free  as  air  ? 

KELLERMANN. 

Yes,  that's  the  way  with  these  fine  folks.  They  fall  upon 
one  another  like  highwaymen.  Your  honour  or  your  life ! 
The  man  who  survives  can  laugh.  The  man  who  falls — 
well,  he  falls  into  my  arms.  But,  see  here,  getting  into  a 
duel  with  that  fellow,  that  Baron  Renoir — why  it  was 
nothing  short  of  suicide!  I  tell  you,  where  that  man  goes, 
no  grass  grows!  On  the  turf,  at  the  card-table,  with  the 
women — always  the  same  story.  That  man  shot  him  down 
like  a  rabbit.  Oh,  of  course,  it's  always  a  fine  thing  to  lay 
down  your  life  for  a  woman.  That's  a  phrase  that 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Do  you  really  think  that  a  woman ? 

KELLERMANN. 

Sh!  Here  comes  your  little  girl.  (DAISY  enters  with  t wo 
vases,  which  she  is  carrying  very  carefully.) 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
What's  that  you're  bringing  ? 

DAISY. 

I  stopped  and  filled  them  first. 
[104] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
But  you  were  to  get  a  pair  of  lace  curtains! 

DAISY. 

Oh,  forgive  me,  mother,  dear.  I  thought  you  said 
vases.  I'll  go —  (Exit  with  the  vases.) 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

I  don't  know  what's  come  over  the  child!  Why,  she's 
been  such  a  help  these  days — thought  of  everything,  wanted 
to  do  everything  herself. 

KELLERMANN. 
A  nice  little  girl — how  old  is  she  ? 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Seventeen,  her  last  birthday. 

KELLERMANN. 
Is  she  at  school? 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
She's  been  going  to  the  Art  Institute.     She  wants  to 

teach  drawing. 

KELLERMANN. 

I  suppose  the  captain  thought  a  lot  of  her? 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Oh,  dear  me,  yes.    She  was  always  around  him  from  the 
time  that  she  was  a  mere  child.    They  used  to  play  to- 
[105] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

gether  out  in  the  yard  like  two  little  kittens!  Of  course, 
when  she  grew  older,  that  sort  of  thing  stopped.  But  lately, 
when  he  seemed  so  worried,  I 

KELLERMANN. 
So  he  seemed  worried,  did  he  ? 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Yes,  indeed.  I've  had  my  suspicions  for  the  last  two 
months.  Well,  when  he  seemed  so  worried,  I  used  to 
manage  to  send  her  in  to  him  pretty  often.  She  read  aloud 
to  him — and  so  on.  (DAISY  enters  with  a  couple  of  cur- 
tains, and  a  dark  coat  on  her  arm.) 

KELLERMANN. 

Thanks,  thanks,  little  lady.  (Takes  the  curtains  from 
her  and  stands  on  a  chair  under  one  of  the  mirrors.)  What 
lovely  Venetian  lace!  Ah,  yes,  every  mirror  comes  to  this 

sooner  or  later! 

DAISY. 

I'd  like  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  would  you  mind, 
mother,  dear?  I  feel  so 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Yes,  yes,  dear.  Go  out  for  a  little  while.  (DAISY  puts 
on  her  coat.) 

KELLERMANN  (in  front  of  the  other  mirror). 
Why,  here's  a  little  bunch  of  flowers! 
[106] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

DAISY  (eagerly). 
Oh,  please,  please,  let  me  have  it. 

KELLERMANN  (blowing  off  the  dust). 
If  it  doesn't  fall  to  pieces.  (Hands  it  to  her.)  Ah,  yes, 
many,  many  loved  him!  He  had  a  beautiful  life,  he  had  a 
beautiful  death,  and,  as  for  a  beautiful  funeral — just  leave 
that  to  Kellermann!  (Takes  his  hat.)  I'll  be  back  again 
for  the  procession.  Good  evening,  ladies. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Good  evening.    (To  DAISY,  seeing  her  take  off  her  coat.) 
I  thought  you  said  you  were  going  out  ? 

DAISY. 
Oh,  well,  I've  changed  my  mind  now. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
I'm  glad,  because  one  feels  so — so  alone  in  here. 

DAISY  (with  a  glance  backward). 
But  we  are  not  alone  yet. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE  (shuddering  slightly). 
That's  just  it. 

DAISY  (staring  straight  before  her). 
I'm  not  afraid. 

[107] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Tell  me  something,  Daisy,  dear.    Weren't  you  in  there 

last  night? 

DAISY  (alarmed). 

Last  night?    I? 

FEAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Yes,  at  the  coffin. 

DAISY. 

What  should  I  be  doing  at  the  coffin  ? 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Well,  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  go  past  the  door. 

DAISY. 

You  must  have  been  dreaming,  mother,  dear. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Very  likely.  I  haven't  been  sleeping  well  these  nights. 
See  here,  Daisy,  perhaps  he's  left  us  something — you,  at 
least — tell  me,  haven't  you  been  thinking  about  that  some- 
times ? 

DAISY  (apart,  with  a  glance  at  the  clock). 
If  she  doesn't  come  soon ! 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

What's  that  you  were  saying  ?  (The  bell  rings.  DAISY 
starts.)  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  (v.  WOLTERS 
enters.) 

[108] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

v.  WOLTERS  (calling). 
Tempski ! 

TEMPSKI  (at  the  threshold,  in  military  attitude). 
Here,  Lieutenant! 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Hurry  over  to  the  garrison  church  and  see  if  everything 
is  ready. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Why,  Kellermann  will  see 

v.  WOLTERS. 

And  then  go — or  no — stay  there  until  the  casket  arrives. 
Do  you  understand  ? 

TEMPSKI. 

At  your  command,  Lieutenant.    (He  goes  out.) 

v.  WOLTERS. 

That's  attended  to.  And  now,  my  dear  Frau  Mulbridge, 
there's  something  that  I  want  to  confide  to  you.  A  visitor  is 
coming  here  presently — a  lady.  (FRAU  MULBRIDGE  glances 
anxiously  at  DAISY,  who  nods.)  She  is  not  to  be  seen  by 
any  one — except  Daisy.  Daisy,  it  appears,  used  to  open 
the  door  for  her  sometimes  in  former  days. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
Daisy —  ?    What  does  this  mean  ? 
[109] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

DAISY. 
Oh,  Tempski  might  have  gossiped,  you  know. 

FRAU  MTJLBBIDGE. 
And  so  he  let  you  open  the  door  ? 

DAISY. 
I  never  gossip,  mother. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 
I'm  finding  things  out  now!    Why  did  I  never  hear  of 

this  before? 

DAISY. 

Oh,  you  were  always  in  the  stables  with  father  in  the 

evening. 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

And  there  I  was  trying  to  keep  this  child  from  any 
knowledge  of  the  things  that  went  on  in  here — and  he 

v.  WOLTERS. 

We've  no  time  for  that  now,  Frau  Mulbridge.    Daisy, 
you  will  watch  outside,  won't  you  ? 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE  (protesting). 
Oh,  that's  too 

DAISY  (firmly). 

Yes,  I'll  watch.    (The  bell  rings  softly.)    Should  I ? 

(v.  WOLTERS  nods.) 

[110] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

FBAU  MULBRIDGE  (calling  her  back). 
Daisy!     (DAISY  goes  out  without  noticing  her  mother.) 

v.  WOLTERS. 
May  I  ask,  Frau  Mulbridge,  that  you 

FRAU  MULBRIDGE. 

Very  well.  We  have  served  him  faithfully,  and  I'll  not 
start  making  any  trouble  now  at  the  end.  (Exit,  left.  v. 
WOLTERS  goes  to  the  door  at  the  right,  listens,  and  then 
opens  it  cautiously.  THE  UNKNOWN  LADY  enters.  She  is 
heavily  veiled,  dressed  entirely  in  black,  and  carries  a  spray 
of  white  roses.  As  she  enters,  she  staggers  slightly  and  leans 
against  the  writing-table  for  support.) 

v.  WOLTERS  (who  has  softly  locked  the  door). 

May  I  show  you  the  way,  Countess  ?  (THE  LADY  shakes 
her  head  and  motions  questioningly  toward  the  back.  v. 
WOLTERS  nods,  and  she  goes  out  through  the  curtained 
doorway.  After  a  short  pause,  v.  WOLTERS  opens  the  door 
at  the  right.) 

v.  WOLTERS  (calling). 

Daisy!  (DAISY  appears  at  the  threshold.)  Kindly  see 
that  no  one  enters  the  house  while  this  lady  is  here — no 
one,  do  you  understand  ? 

DAISY. 

Oh,  yes,  I  understand  very  well. 
[Ill] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

v.  WALTERS. 

It  may  be  that  she  has  something  else  to  say  to  me.  If 
the  men  should  come  for  the  casket  before  she  has  left, 
take  them  around  the  other  way.  Keep  the  main  entrance 

clear. 

DAISY. 

No,  that  wouldn't  be  safe. 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Well,  what  shall  we  do  ? 

DAISY  (breathing  heavily). 
I'll — think  of  something. 

v.  WOLTERS. 
His  death  grieves  you,  too,  dear  child? 

DAISY, 

Me  ?  Oh,  yes — me  too.  (She  goes  out.  v.  WOLTERS 
walks  to  and  fro,  pauses  to  listen  in  front  of  the  curtain, 
turns  on  the  electric  lamp,  again  walks  to  and  fro,  etc.  At  a 
slight  movement  of  the  curtain,  he  stops,  expectant.  THE 
LADY,  still  veiled,  comes  forward  slowly  until  she  has 
reacJied  one  of  the  chairs  on  the  Uft.  A  pause.) 

THE  LADY. 

Ah,  Herr  von  Wolters — to  let  them  close  the  coffin  before 
I — I  had  seen  him — I  must  confess,  I  had  not  expected 
that  of  you,  Herr  von  Wolters. 
[112] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

V.    WOLTERS. 

I  didn't  dare  prevent  it,  Countess — just  because  of  your 
coming.  It  was  the  only  way  to  have  the  house  to  our- 
selves. 

THE  LADY. 

Don't  call  me  countess,  Herr  von  Wolters.  I  am  not  a 
countess  here.  (Glancing  toward  the  door.)  I  am  only  an 
unhappy  woman  whom  no  one  in  this  house  knows,  whom 
no  one  is  to  know. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Wouldn't  you  care  to  rest  for  a  moment  ? 

THE  LADY. 
Are  we  quite  safe  here  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Quite.  The  little  girl  who,  you  say,  is  not  unknown  to 
you,  is  outside  at  the  entrance.  I  have  told  her  mother  of 
your  visit  and  she  will  not  enter  the  house.  If  you  wish, 
however,  we  can  lock  the  door. 

THE  LADY. 
Yes,  do.     Or,  no,  perhaps  it  would  be  better  not  to — in 

case  any  one 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Very  well. 

THE  LADY. 

(Throws  back  her  veil,  revealing  a  very  beautiful  face, 
which  is  deathly  pale  and  wears  an  expression  of  the  deepest 
[113] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

affliction.  She  sinks  into  the  chair.  A  pause.)  I  wanted  to 
lay  my  roses  on  his  breast.  Ah,  Herr  von  Wolters,  I  loved 
that  man  with  an  infinite  love.  Perhaps  grief  will  give  my 
life  a  new  and  holier  meaning — who  knows?  We  seek 
beauty — and  find  grief.  Tell  me,  Herr  von  Wolters,  you 
were  his  best  friend,  did  you  never  suspect ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Never,  never. 

THE  LADY. 

And  when  you  received  my  letter  early  this  morning 
asking  you  to  come  at  once — not  even  then  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
I  could  draw — various  conclusions — from  that. 

THE  LADY. 

For  instance ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Oh,  please — really,  you  must  excuse  me 

THE  LADY. 

No,  Herr  von  Wolters.  We  are  here — but  why  don't  you 
sit  down  ?  (He  does  so.)  We  are  here  together,  you  and 
I,  to  hold  the  last  rites  over  our  sainted  dead.  His  friend 
and  his  beloved — who  else  has  any  right  to  be  here  ?  Herr 
von  Wolters,  I  have  given  you  my  full  confidence — I  have 
made  a  strange  confession  to  you.  You  will  not  betray  me  ? 
[114] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

V,    WOLTERS. 
Ah! 

THE  LADY. 

And  so,  in  this  sacred  hour,  there  must  be  no  conceal- 
ment between  us.  Answer  me  now.  What  does  the  world 
say? 

v.  WOLTERS  (embarrassed). 

The  world  says  so  many  things,  Countess. 

THE  LADY. 

Tell  me,  to  what  extent  has  my  name  been  associated 
with  this  affair? 

v.  WOL/BERS. 

I  can't  conceal  the  fact  from  you,  Countess.  Your  name 
is  mentioned. 

THE  LADY  (thoughtfully'). 

Yes,  that's  what  my  husband  says. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

But  please  let  me  add  that  not  a  shadow,  not  the  slightest 
suspicion,  has  ever 

THE  LADY. 
But  what  else  can  they  think  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

My  dear  Countess,  when  a  woman  is  as  beauti —    I 
mean,  that  when  a  woman  is  the  centre  of  so  much  in- 
[115] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

terest,  it's  not  surprising  that  some  notice  was  taken  of  the 
attentions  which  he 

THE  LADY  (somewhat  impatiently). 
Yes— but ? 

V.    WOLTERS. 

It  naturally  was  observed  that  my  friend • 

THE  LADY. 

Our  friend  had  a — what  shall  I  say — a  susceptible  heart. 
We  knew  that,  who  knew  him  so  well.  This  was  not  the 
first  time  he  had — been  interested  in  a  woman.  And  that 
was  why  I  arranged  to  have  him  seen  in  our  house  as  little 
as  possible — lately,  not  at  all. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

That  fact  did  not  escape  notice,  Countess.  And  as 
Baron  Renoir  was  frequently  seen  with  you — instead  of 

THE  LADY  (somewhat  excited). 

Don't  mention  that  name,  Herr  von  Welters!  I  can't 
stand  it!  What  could  have  possessed  that  man  Renoir —  ? 
But  do  tell  me  the  rest.  I've  heard  only  the  merest  details. 
They've  only  told  me  what  they  thought  necessary. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

No  one  knows  what  actually  occurred  between  the  two 
men.    He  begged  me  to  ask  no  questions.    You  know,  he 
[116] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

was  so  reserved  of  late.  It  may  be  that  certain  expres- 
sions which  passed  between  them  a  few  days  ago — after 
they  had  been  drinking— had  something  to  do  with  it — no 
one  knows.  Perhaps  there  was  some  insult  which  was 
given  in  private — and  which  neither  of  them  would  make 
public.  The  assurance  that  the  injury,  whatever  it  may 
have  been,  was  irreparable,  must  satisfy  us. 

THE  LADY. 

Oh,  how  I  hate  that  man  Renoir! — quite  apart  from  the 
trouble  which  he  has  gotten  me  into !  My  husband  warned 
me  against  him  long  ago.  "That  scoundrel  will  com- 
promise you  some  day,"  he  said,  "and  then  I'll  have  to 
fight  a  duel  with  him."  Instead — this!  Oh,  you  poor, 
poor  darling!  And  now,  when  all  was  so  quiet  and  peace- 
ful between  us! 

v.  WOLTERS. 

My  dear  Countess,  if  you  think  that  the  change  which 
came  over  him  in  the  last  few  months  betokened  peace  and 

quiet 

THE  LADY  (nervously}. 

I  don't  know  anything  about  that!  It  wasn't  my  fault! 
Was  I  to  blame  if  he  insisted  on  having  notions  ?  Tell  me 
one  thing,  Herr  von  Wolters,  did  he  die  easily  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

No  one  dies  easily,  Countess. 
[117] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

THE  LADY. 
Was  he  still  living  when  they  reached  the  house  ? 

v.  WOLTEBS. 
No,  he  died  on  the  field. 

THE  LADY. 
Do  you  know  my  first  name,  Heir  von  Wolters  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Certainly. 

THE  LADY  (hesitating'). 

Did  he — by  any  chance — speak — that  name? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
That  would  have  betrayed  his  secret,  Countess. 

THE  LADY. 
I  only  meant — at  the  very  last — when  he  was  no  longer 

— conscious. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

No,  Countess.  But — pardon  me,  I  don't  want  to  be  in- 
delicate— but  did  he  ever  call  you  by  some  little — little 
term  of  endearment — some —  (Stops,  embarrassed.) 

THE  LADY. 
Why  do  you  ask? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
At  the  very  end,  he  kept  murmuring  something  that 

sounded  like  "Girlie" — or 

[118] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

THE  LADY  (indignantly). 
My  dear  Herr  von  Wolters,  our  intimacy  was  of  a 

different  sort. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Pardon  me,  Countess,  but  you  yourself  asked.     (She 
nods.    A  short  pause.) 

THE  LADY. 

Good  heavens — these  curtains  over  the  mirrors!    They 
make  me  feel  as  if  I  were  looking  a  blind  man  in  the  eyes! 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Would  you  like  to  have  me  remove  them  ? 

THE  LADY. 

No,  no.     Never  mind.     I  want  to  ask  you  something, 
Herr  von  Wolters.    Tell  me,  what  do  you  think  of  me  ? 

v.  WOLTERS  (confused). 
What  do  you  mean,  Countess? 

THE  LADY. 

I  want  to  know  what  I  have  done  that  I  should  be 
doomed  to  bring  so  much  sorrow  into  the  lives  of  others. 
I  had  only  just  left  school  when  a  strange  young  man  shot 
himself  under  my  window.  It  was  on  my  account  that  my 
husband  was  transferred  here  from  his  former  garrison. 
Tell  me,  what  mark  of  Cain  do  I  bear  that  all  men  follow 
[119] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

me  ?  I  dress  as  simply  as  I  can.  J  never  go  out  without  a 
double  veil.  Sometimes  I  have  actually  been  tempted  to 
throw  vitriol  in  my  face! 

v.  WOLTERS  (candidly). 
Oh,  that  would  have  been  a  shame,  Countess! 

THE  LADY  (severely). 
Herr  von  Wolters! 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Yes,  Countess,  to  mar  that  image  of  divinity  would  be  a 
sin — and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  repeat  it  beside  the  coffin  of 

my  friend. 

THE  LADY. 

Don't!  (Reaches  him  her  hand,  which  he  kisses  re- 
spectfully.) Dear  me,  how  strange  it  seems!  Yesterday 
we  scarcely  knew  each  other — those  few  visits  at  my 
house  don't  count.  To-day — this  short  conversation — and 
here  we  are,  sitting  side  by  side,  the  guardians  of  a  secret 
which  will  be  buried  forever — with  him.  It  will,  Herr  von 

Wolters  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Ah,  my  dear  Countess,  please  do  not  offend  me. 

THE  LADY. 

Very  well,  I  shall  not  worry.  Did  you  love  him  very 
dearly  ? 

[120] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

V.  tWOLTERS. 

I  thought  a  great  deal  of  him,  Countess.  He  took  care  of 
me  when  I  was  a  young  fellow  quite  alone  in  the  world. 
He  was  so —  Really,  I  don't  know  how  I  shall —  (break- 
ing down.} 

THE  LADY. 

Courage,  dear  friend !    We  must  both  try  to  be  brave. 

v.  WOLTERS  (firmly}. 
Thank  you,  Countess.    You  will  not  have  to  reprove  me 

again. 

THE  LADY. 

You  evaded  my  question  before.  Do  you  consider  me 
very  guilty,  Herr  von  Wolters  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
He  loved  you,  Countess.     That  makes  you  holy  in  my 

eyes. 

THE  LADY. 

I  thank  you  for  that  word — little  as  I  deserve  it.  It  has 
never  been  my  way  to  undervalue  myself.  But  your  opinion 
meant  so  much  to  me 

v.  WOLTERS  (puzzled). 
What  difference  could  my  humble  opinion 


THE  LADY. 

Don't  say  that ,  my  dear  friend.    There  are  few  people — 
perhaps  not  even  my  own  husband — who  have  ever  seen 
[121] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

me  as  you  see  me  at  this  moment — so  weak,  so  helpless,  so 
— I  had  almost  said — unguarded.    Remember  that — and 

spare  me. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

I  hope  that  I  have  not  been  inconsiderate,  Countess. 

THE  LADY. 

(Putting  her  hand  to  her  brow,  stammering.')  No,  no, 
no;  it's — it's  grieving  for  him  that  makes  me  lose  my  wits. 
The  world  had  so  long  set  me  on  a  pedestal  that  I  thought 
I  belonged  there.  Now  I  feel  as  if  I  were  torn  down.  Now 
I  lie  there —  Herr  von  Wolters,  pay  no  attention  to  me! 

v.  WOLTERS. 
If  I  could  only  help  you,  Countess! 

THE  LADY  (smiling  sorrowfully). 
Help  me — you?  And  yet,  why  not?  His  friend  and 
his  beloved!  It  is  we,  you  and  I,  who  are  paying  the  last 
honours  to  the  dead.  Who  could  know  his  worth  better 
than  we  ?  Whose  grief  could  be  more  eloquent  than  ours  ? 
No,  no,  no — I  must  not  talk.  Ah,  I  see  him  before  me  now 
with  his  bright,  careless  smile — his  conqueror's  smile!  I 
hope  you  never  were  as  successful  with  women  as  he  was  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
My  dear  Countess,  I  lead  a  fairly  quiet,  uneventful  life. 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

THE  LADY. 
But  you're  not — you're  not  a  Puritan,  are  you  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
I  must  let  others  judge  of  that,  Countess. 

THE  LADY. 

Oh!  I  should  like  to  cry  out  my  sorrow  to  the  whole 
world — say  to  them  all,  "You  sordid  souls,  you  couldn't 
know  how  much  I  loved  him!  What  do  I  care  if  you  damn 

me,  if  you "     (The  bett  rings.    She  starts.)     There's 

the  bell! 

v.  WOLTERS  (reassuringly). 

Probably  just  a  wreath. 

THE  LADY. 
And  if  it's  not — a ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Why,  Daisy  is  outside.  But  to  make  sure —  (Listens 
at  the  door,  then  opens  it  cautiously.)  Daisy!  (THE  LADY 
drops  her  veil.  DAISY  appears  at  the  threshold.) 

DAISY. 
What  is  it,  Heir  von  Wolters  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Who  rang? 

DAISY. 
It  was  a  wreath. 

[123] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

v.  WOLTERS  (to  THE  LADY). 
Just  as  I  supposed. 

THE  LADY  (to  DAISY). 

Come  here,  dear.     (DAISY  comes  forward.)     You  used 
to  open  the  door  for  me,  didn't  you  ? 

DAISY. 
Yes. 

THE  LADY. 

But  you  don't  know  who  I  am  ? 

DAISY. 

No. 

THE  LADY. 

You'll  not  try  to  find  out? 

DAISY. 
Oh,  no. 

THE  LADY. 

Was  he  fond  of  you  ? 

DAISY. 
Oh,  yes. 

THE  LADY. 

And  have  you  been  crying  since  he  died? 

DAISY. 
No. 

THE  LADY. 


You're  a  pretty  little  girl. 

[124] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

DAISY  (going). 
Has  my  lady  any  more  questions  ? 

THE  LADY. 

(Taking  out  a  gold  purse,  to  v.  WOLTERS.)  Do  you 
think  one  might  give  her  anything  ?  (v.  WOLTERS  shakes 
his  head.)  Thank  you,  dear.  We  shall  see  each  other 
again.  (As  DAISY  lingers.)  What  is  it? 

DAISY. 
Very  well — since  I  shall  see  my  lady  again.     (Goes  out.) 

THE  LADY. 
It  did  seem  though,  as  if  she  were  waiting  for  something. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

If  you  will  pardon  me  for  the  suggestion,  it  was  surely 
not — not  for  money. 

THE  LADY. 

By  the  way,  this  incident  reminds  me  of  something  I 
was  just  about  to —  Herr  von  Wolters,  are  you  my 

friend  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

If  you  consider  me  worthy  of  that  distinction,  Countess. 

THE  LADY. 

Most  assuredly.    Well,  Herr  von  Wolters,  there  is  some- 
thing that  troubles  me — something  that  desecrates  my 
[125] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

grief,  if  I  may  use  the  word.  There's  the  anxiety — the  fear 
that —  Yes,  yes — I  must  tell  you  all.  Herr  von  Wolters, 
he  has  my  letters.  Do  you  understand  ?  (He  nods.)  Didn't 
he  give  you  something  for  me — a  small,  sealed  package, 
perhaps — nothing  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

You  are  forgetting,  Countess,  that  I  was  ignorant  of  all 
this  until  a  short  time  ago. 

THE  LADY. 
Yes,  that's  true.     H'm — it's  really  too  bad.     Who  has 

the  keys? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Why,  he  gave  them  to  me  just  before  the  duel.    I  have 

them  with  me. 

THE  LADY. 

You've  looked  through  the  writing-table? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Yes,  I  had  to  hand  over  his  papers  to  the  legal  authori- 
ties. I  didn't  consider  myself  entitled  to  touch  his  private 
correspondence  at  present. 

THE  LADY. 
Why  not? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

He  made  a  will  the  day  before  the  duel. 
[126] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

THE  LADY. 
Really  ?    In  whose  favor  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
I  don't  know. 

THE  LADY. 

What!    Didn't  he  make  any  allusion — nothing ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
The  only  thing  he  said  was  that  he  had  named  me  as 

executor. 

THE  LADY. 

But  he  had  no  relatives.     Who  is  to  inherit  his  large 

fortune  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

As  I've  said,  I  don't  know.  However,  he  made  a  remark 
that  I  didn't  quite  understand,  and  that  I — pardon  me — 
would  rather  not  repeat,  if  you  don't  mind. 

THE  LADY. 
Oh,  please! 

v.  WOLTERS. 

It  might  give  you  pain,  Countess. 

THE  LADY  (sadly). 
Nothing  can  give  me  pain — after  this. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Well,  he  said  with  a  decided  emphasis — though  perhaps 
he  did  not  intend  that  I  should  notice  it — he  said,  "The 
one  who  loved  me  best  shall  be  my  heir." 
[127] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

THE  LADY. 

What!  He  said  that?  Who  could  have  loved  him 
best  if  not  I?  (Terrified.)  For  God's  sake,  Herr  von 
Wolters! 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Don't    be    alarmed,    Countess.     That    would    be    too 

grotesque. 

THE  LADY. 

Perhaps  this  is  his  revenge. 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Revenge  ?     On  you  ?     What  for  ? 

THE  LADY. 

No,  no — I'm  quite  out  of  my  senses,  I —  But,  as  you 
have  the  keys,  you  won't  mind  doing  me  this  slight 
favour. 

v.  WOLTERS. 
What  favour,  Countess  ? 

THE  LADY. 

Search  for  the  letters  with  me — now.  It  seems  to  me 
your  duty,  not  only  as  a  friend  but  as  a  gentleman. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Pardon  me,  my  dear  Countess,  you  were  certainly  his 
last — perhaps  his  only  great  love.    But  his  life  was  varied 
[128] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

— and  if  we  were  to  open  his  desk  now — I  really  don't 
know  what  we  might  find  there. 

THE  LADY. 
You  mean  there  would  be  letters  from  other ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
I  must  say  no  more. 

THE  LADY. 

Well,  I'll  shut  my  eyes.  I'll  only  look  for  my  own  hand- 
writing. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

The  will  is  to  be  opened  in  a  few  days,  Countess.  He 
has  doubtless  inserted  a  clause  authorising  me  as  executor 
to  return  certain  papers  to  their  owners — or  destroy  them. 

THE  LADY. 

Ah,  I  see  you're  a  Puritan,  after  all. — No,  no,  I'll  not 
trouble  your  conscience.  This  loyalty  which  you  bear  him 
to  the  very  grave  is  so  beautiful,  so  poetical,  and  I  feel  so 
near  to  you  because  of  it — (Putting  her  hand  over  her  eyes.) 
Oh,  those  curtains  in  front  of  the  mirrors!  They  make  me 
feel  as  if  I  were  dead  myself,  (v.  WOLTERS  is  about  to  tear 
them  down.}  No,  no — don't.  Thanks.  Tell  me,  how 
long  will  it  be  before  the  will  is  opened  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Unfortunately,  the  day  is  not  yet  appointed. 
[129] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

THE  LADY. 

I  shall  not  sleep  a  moment  until  then.  Not  even  my 
love,  my  grief,  can  outweigh  this  terrible  fear.  My  honour, 
my  future,  my  life — everything  is  at  stake! 

v.  WOLTERS  (amazed). 
Countess! 

THE  LADY. 

Please  stop  calling  me  Countess. 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Forgive  me.    What  should  I ? 

THE  LADY. 

Call  me  your  friend.  I  want  to  be  that.  From  this  day 
you  become  closer  to  me  than  any  other  being  in  all  the 
world.  Are  you  not  the  legacy,  as  it  were,  that  our  dear 
dead  has  left  me? — Ah,  you  and  I  must  become  like 
brother  and  sister,  two  beings  who  have — nothing — to  con- 
ceal from  one  another. — Herr  von  Wolters,  will  you  be  my 
guide,  my  confidant — my  friend  ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Countess!    My  dear,  dear  Countess! 

THE  LADY  (softly). 

But  you're  not  to 

[130] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

V.    WOLTERS. 

Forgive  me.    Your  kindness  to  me  makes  me  feel  so — 

confused — I 

THE  LADY. 

Why  should  it  ?  I  feel  certain  that  if  he  could  see  us  at 
this  moment,  he  himself  would  join  our  hands  together. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Countess,  if  you  ever  need  a  man  who  would  let  himself 
be  torn  to  pieces  for  you 

THE  LADY. 
No,  not  that.    I  only  want  you  to  take  this  great  weight 

from  my  soul. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Ah,  Countess,  I  am  a  man  of  my  word. 

THE  LADY. 
And  that's  what  you  call  being  torn  to  pieces  for  me  ? 

v.  WOLTERS  (trembling). 

Whether  I  can  answer  for  this  to  him  and  to  my  own 
conscience — whether  I  can  ever  again  think  of  him — with- 
out shame — will  depend  upon  what  we  shall  find  in  there. 

THE  LADY. 

But  you  will  open  it  ? — (A  pause.)    Herr  von  Wolters, 
you'll  not  let  me  die  of  fear  and  distraction  ? 
[131] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

V.    WOLTERS. 

I'll  open  it. 

THE  LADY  (laying  her  hand  on  his  arm). 
Thanks,  thanks!     Ah,  you  are  good 

v.  WOLTERS  (taking  out  the  key). 
Don't  thank  me.    I  feel  as  if  he  could  hear  it  in  there. 

THE  LADY  (shuddering  involuntarily). 
No — no !     (v.  WOLTERS  turns  the  key  in  the  keyhole  un- 
availingly.)    Won't  it  work  ? — Heavens,  why  your  hand  is 
trembling.    Let  me  have  it. 

v.  WOLTERS  (with  a  last  attempt  at  resistance). 
The  keys  were  entrusted  to  me,  Countess. 

THE  LADY  (coaxingly). 

Oh,  do  let  me  have  it.     (Sits  at  the  writing-table  and 
opens  the  drawer.    With  a  low  cry  of  surprise.)    Empty! 

v.  WOLTERS  (bending  over  her). 
Empty  ? 

THE  LADY. 

Are  you  sure  that  this  was ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Yes,  that  was  the  drawer  in  which  he  kept  his  private 
papers.    I'm  sure  of  it. 

[132] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

THE  LADY  (staring  straight  ahead). 
Well,  how  can  you  explain ? 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Perhaps  he  burned  everything. 

THE  LADY  (springing  to  her  feet). 

And  perhaps  not ! — Who  knows  ? — This  is  the  way  he 
played  with  the  honour  of  the  woman  who  gave  him  all! 
This  is  my  thanks!  This  is  the  action  of  a  gentleman! 

v.  WOLTERS. 

No  gentleman,  Countess,  can  do  more  than  let  himself 
be  shot  for  a  woman. 

THE  LADY. 

Who  asked  him  to  do  it  ?  Was  it  my  fault  if  jealousy  of 
Renoir  drove  him  mad  ?  And  perhaps  this  is  really  his 
revenge!  Perhaps  we'll  live  to  see  even  more  interesting 
disclosures! — This  is  my  reward!  This —  (DAISY  ap- 
pears at  the  door  in  the  centre.)  What  do  you  want  ? 

DAISY. 
I  beg  your  pardon.    My  lady  is  looking  for — letters? 

THE  LADY. 

So  you've  been  in  there  eavesdropping,  have  you  ? 
[133] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

DAISY. 
I  brought  in  a  wreath. 

THE  LADY. 
Well,  what  do  you  know  about  my  letters? 

DAISY. 

Here  they  are.  (Takes  a  small  package  of  letters  from 
her  dress  and  hands  it  to  THE  LADY.)  I  intended  to  give 
them  to  you  secretly  when  you  left. 

THE  LADY. 

(Snatches  the  letters  from  her  hand  and  looks  at  them.) 
How  do  you  happen  to  have  these  letters? 

DAISY  (wonderingly). 
Why,  how  should  I  happen  to  have  them  ?    He  gave 

them  to  me. 

THE  LADY. 

To  you  ?    Who  are  you  ?    Why  to  you  ? 

DAISY. 

Because  he  knew  that  I  would  do  exactly  what  he  told 

me  to  do. 

THE  LADY  (to  v.  WOLTEBS). 

Can  you  understand  this  ? 

v.  WOLTERS  (gently). 
What  did  he  tell  you  to  do,  Daisy  ? 
[134] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

DAISY. 

He  said  to  me,  "These  letters  belong  to  the  lady  who 
used  to  come  to  see  me  sometimes.  No  one  is  to  know 
about  her — not  even  Heir  von  Wolters. — When  I  am  dead, 

the  lady  will 

v.  WOLTERS. 
Did  he  say  that? 

DAISY. 

Yes.  "When  I  am  dead,  the  lady  will  probably  come 
here  again.  If  she  does,  give  her  these  letters.  If  she 
doesn't,  then  burn  them  with  the  others." 

v.  WOLTERS. 
What  others? 

DAISY. 

Those  over  there  in  the  stove. 

THE  LADY  (examining  the  letters). 
Look  at  this!    Unsealed!    Unwrapped! 

DAISY  (smiling). 
He  knew  that  I  wouldn't  read  them. 

THE  LADY. 
I  suppose  from  now  on  I  shall  be  at  your  mercy! 

DAISY. 

I  don't  know  you,  my  lady.  And  even  if  I  did,  you  need 
have  no  fear. 

[135] 


THE   LAST  VISIT 

THE  LADY  (to  v.  WOLTERS). 
Isn't  she  kind! 

DAISY  (always  respectfully). 
But  I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  favour,  my  lady. 

THE  LADY. 
By  all  means.    What  could  I  deny  you,  my  dear  ? 

DAISY. 

(Goes  into  the  room  behind  and  returns  with  the  flowers 
that  THE  LADY  had  brought.)  Oh  please,  please  take 
these  roses — away — with  you. 

THE  LADY. 
What  does  this  mean? 

DAISY  (imploringly). 
Oh,  please  take  them! 

THE  LADY. 

What  right  have  you  to  make  such  a  shameless  request 
of  me? 

DAISY. 

I  heard — forgive  me,  I  didn't  want  to — I  heard  the  way 
you  spoke  about  him  before.    And  it  seems  to  me  that  your 
flowers  no  longer  belong  upon  his  coffin. 
[136] 


THE  LAST  VISIT 

THE  LADY. 

What  do  you  say  to  that,  Heir  von  Wolters  ?    This  per- 
son acts  as  if  she  were  the  mistress  of  the  house! 

DAISY  (proudly). 
I  am. 

THE  LADY. 

(Stares  at  her  through  her  lorgnette  and  smiles.)     Oh, 

really! 

DAISY  (her  bearing  pure  and  proud). 

The  night  before  he  died  I  became — his  wife.     (A  long 

pause.) 

THE  LADY. 

I  hope  you'll  come  and  take  tea  with  me  in  the  near 
future,  Herr  von  Wolters. 

v.  WOLTERS. 

Pray,  excuse  me,  but  official  duties  will  make  it  impossi- 
ble for  me  to 

THE  LADY. 

(Taken  aback,  but  quickly  recovering  herself.')     Thank 
you  at  all  events.      (A  loud  ring.) 

DAISY  (starts  and  looks  at  the  clock). 

There  are  the  troops  already. — Would  you  be  so  kind, 

Herr  von  Wolters — ?    Please  let  no  one  come  in  here. 

(v.  WOLTERS  bows  and  hurries  out  at  the  right.)     May  I 

take  you  out  the  back  way,  my  lady  ?     No  one  will  see  you 

[137] 


THE   LAST   VISIT 

— or  at  least,  only  my  mother.  (As  the  heavy  steps  of  the 
soldiers  are  heard,  to  herself,  in  suppressed  agony.)  And 
meanwhile — they  will — take  the  coffin — away!  (Regain- 
ing possession  of  herself.)  But  wouldn't  it  be  better  to 
drop  your  veil  ?  (THE  LADY  does  so.)  And  your  roses — 
do  take  them!  (THE  LADY  snatches  the  roses  from  her 
hand.)  This  way,  please.  (She  opens  the  door  at  the  left 
and  goes  out  slowly  behind  THE  LADY,  her  eyes  turned 
longingly  toward  the  room  behind.) 

CuRTAIlf. 


(138} 


IV 

THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

A    COMEDY    IN     ONE    ACT 


CHARACTERS 

THE  PRINCESS  VQN  GELDERN. 

BARONESS  VON  BROOK,  her  maid  of  honour. 

FRAU  VON  HALLDORF. 

LIDDY  )  ,       ,       , . 
-.,          >  her  daughters. 

FRITZ  STRUBEL,  a  student. 
FRAU  LINDEMANN. 
ROSA,  a  waitress. 
A  LACKEY. 

THE  PRESENT  DAY. 

The  scene  is  laid  at  an  inn  situated  above  a  watering- 
place  in  central  Germany. 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

The  veranda  of  an  inn.  The  right  side  of  the  stage  and 
half  of  the  background  represent  a  framework  of  glass  en- 
dosing  the  veranda.  The  left  side  and  the  other  half  of  the 
background  represent  the  stone  watts  of  the  house.  To  the 
left,  in  the  foreground,  a  door;  another  door  in  the  back- 
ground, at  the  left.  On  the  left,  back,  a  buffet  and  serving- 
table.  Neat  little  tables  and  small  iron  chairs  for  visitors 
are  placed  about  the  veranda.  On  the  right,  in  the  centre,  a 
large  telescope,  standing  on  a  tripod,  is  directed  through  an 
open  window.  ROSA,  dressed  in  the  costume  of  the  country, 
is  arranging  flowers  on  the  small  tables.  FRAU  LINDEMANN, 
a  handsome,  stoutish  woman  in  the  thirties,  hurries  in  ex- 
citedly from  the  left. 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

There!  Now  she  can  come — curtains,  bedding — every- 
thing fresh  and  clean  as  new !  No,  this  honour,  this  unex- 
pected honour — !  Barons  and  counts  have  been  here  often 
enough.  Even  the  Russian  princes  sometimes  come  up 
from  the  Springs.  I  don't  bother  my  head  about  them — • 
they're  just  like — that! — But  a  princess — a  real  princess! 
[141] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

ROSA. 
Perhaps  it  isn't  a  real  princess  after  all. 

FRAU  LINDEMANN  (indignantly). 
What  ?    What  do  you  mean  by  that ! 

ROSA. 

I  was  only  thinking  that  a  real  princess  wouldn't  be 
coming  to  an  inn  like  this.  Real  princesses  won't  lie  on 
anything  but  silks  and  velvets.  You  just  wait  and  see; 

it's  a  trick! 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

Are  you  going  to  pretend  that  the  letter  isn't  genuine; — 
that  the  letter  is  a  forgery  ? 

ROSA. 

Maybe  one  of  the  regular  customers  is  playing  a  joke. 
That  student,  Herr  Striibel,  he's  always  joking.  (Giggles.) 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

When  Herr  Striibel  makes  a  joke,  he  makes  a  decent 
joke,  a  real,  genuine  joke.  Oh,  of  course  one  has  to  pre- 
tend to  be  angry  sometimes — but  as  for  writing  a  forged 
letter — My  land! — a  letter  with  a  gold  crown  on  it — there! 
(She  takes  a  letter  from  her  waist,  and  reads.)  "This  after- 
noon, Her  Highness,  the  Princess  von  Geldern,  will  stop 
at  the  Fairview  Inn,  to  rest  an  hour  or  so  before  making 
the  descent  to  the  Springs.  You  are  requested  to  have 
[142] 


THE   FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

ready  a  quiet  and  comfortable  room,  to  guard  Her  High- 
ness from  any  annoying  advances,  and,  above  all,  to  main- 
tain the  strictest  secrecy  regarding  this  event,  as  otherwise 
the  royal  visit  will  not  be  repeated.  Baroness  von  Brook, 
maid  of  honour  to  Her  Highness."  Now,  what  have  you 

got  to  say? 

ROSA. 

Herr  Striibel  lent  me  a  book  once.  A  maid  of  honour 
came  into  that,  too.  I'm  sure  it's  a  trick! 

FRAU  LINDEMANN  (looking  out  toward  the  back). 
Dear,  dear,  isn't  that  Herr  Striibel  now,  coming  up  the 
hill?    To-day  of  all  days!    What  on  earth  does  he  always 

want  up  here  ? 

ROSA  (pointedly). 

He's  in  such  favour  at  the  Inn. — He  won't  be  leaving  here 

all  day. 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

That  won't  do  at  all.  He's  got  to  be  sent  off.  If  I  only 
knew  how  I  could — Oh,  ho!  I'll  be  disagreeable  to  him — 
that's  the  only  way  to  manage  it! 

(STRUBEL  enters.  He  is  a  handsome  young  fellow  with- 
out much  polish,  but  cheerful,  unaffected,  entirely  at  his 
ease,  and  invariably  good-natured.) 

STRUBEL. 
Good  day,  everybody. 

[143] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

FRATT  LINDEMANN  (sarcastically'). 
Charming  day. 

STRUBEL  (surprised  at  her  coolness). 
I  say!    What's  up  ?    Who's  been  rubbing  you  the  wrong 
way  ?     May  I  have  a  glass  of  beer  any  way  ?     Glass  of 
beer,  if  you  "please! — Several  glasses  of  beer,  if  you  please. 
— (Sits  down.)    Pestiferously  hot  this  afternoon. 

FRAU  LINDEMANN  (after  a  pause). 

H'm,  H'm! 

STRUBEL. 

Landlady  Linda,  dear,  why  so  quiet  to-day  ? 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

In  the  first  place,  Heir  Striibel,  I  would  have  you  know 
that  my  name  is  Frau  Lindemann. 

STRUBEL. 
Just  so. 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

And  secondly,  if  you  don't  stop  your  familiarity 

STRUBEL. 

(Singing,  as  ROSA  brings  him  a  glass  of  beer.)     "Beer 
— beer!" — Heavens  and  earth,  how  hot  it  is!    (Drinks.) 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

If  you  find  it  so  hot,  why  don't  you  stay  quietly  down 
there  at  the  Springs  ? 

[144] 


THE   FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 

Ah,  my  soul  thirsts  for  the  heights — my  soul  thirsts  for 
the  heights  every  afternoon.  Just  as  soon  as  ever  my 
sallow-faced  pupil  has  thrown  himself  down  on  the  couch 
to  give  his  red  corpuscles  a  chance  to  grow,  "I  gayly  grasp 
my  Alpine  staff  and  mount  to  my  beloved." 

FRAU  LINDEMANN  (scornfully). 
Bah! 

STRUBEL. 

v 

Oh,  you're  thinking  that  you  are  my  beloved  ?  No, 
dearest :  my  beloved  stays  down  there.  But  to  get  nearer 
to  her,  I  have  to  come  up  here — up  to  your  telescope.  With 
the  aid  of  your  telescope  1  can  look  right  into  her  window 
— see? 

ROSA  (laughing). 

Oh,  so  that's  why 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

Perhaps  you  think  I'm  interested  in  all  that  ? — Besides, 
I've  no  more  time  for  you. — Moreover,  I'm  going  to  have 
this  place  cleaned  right  away.  Good-bye,  Herr  Striibel. 
(Goes  out.) 

STRUBEL  (laughing). 

I  certainly  caught  it  that  time!  See  here,  Rosa,  what's 
got  into  her  head? 

[145] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

ROSA  (mysteriously). 

Ahem,  there  are  crowned  heads  and  other  heads — and — 
ahem — there  are  letters  with  crowns  and  letters  without 

crowns. 

STRUBEL. 

Letters — ?    Are  you ? 

ROSA. 
There  are  maids  of  honour — and  other  maids !    (Giggles.) 

STRUBEL. 
Permit  me.     (Tapping  her  forehead  lightly  with  his 

finger.)    Ow!    Ow! 

ROSA. 
What's  the  matter? 

STRUBEL. 

Why,  your  head's  on  fire!  Blow!  Blow!  And  while 
you  are  getting  some  salve  for  my  burns,  I'll  just —  (Goes 
to  the  telescope.) 

(Enter  FRAU  VON  HALLDORF,  LIDDT,  and  MILLY.  FRAU 
VON  HALLDORF  is  an  aristocratic  woman,  somewhat  super- 
cilious and  affected.) 

LIDDY. 

Here's  the  telescope,  mother.  Now  you  can  see  for  your- 
self. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 

What  a  pity  that  it's  in  use  just  now. 
[146] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL  (stepping  back). 

Oh,  I  beg  of  you,  ladies — I  have  plenty  of  time.    I  can 

wait. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF  (condescendingly). 

Ah,  thanks  so  much.  (She  goes  up  to  the  telescope,  while 
STRUBEL  returns  to  his  former  place.)  Waitress!  Bring  us 
three  glasses  of  milk. 

LIDDT  (as  MILLY  languidly  drops  into  a  chair). 
Beyond  to  the  right  is  the  road,  mother. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 

Oh,  I  have  found  the  road,  but  I  see  no  carriage — 
neither  a  royal  carriage  nor  any  other  sort. 

LIDDY. 
Let  me  look. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 
Please  do. 

LIDDY. 

It  has  disappeared  now. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 
Are  you  quite  sure  that  it  was  a  royal  carriage  ? 

LIDDY. 

Oh,  one  has  an  instinct  for  that  sort  of  thing,  mother. 
It  conies  to  one  in  the  cradle. 

[147] 


THE   FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

FBAU  v.  HALLDORF. 
(As  MILLY  yawns  and  sighs  aloud.)     Are  you  sleepy, 

dear? 

MILLY. 

No,  only  tired.     I'm  always  tired. 

FKAU  v.  HALLDORF. 

Well,  that's  just  why  we  are  at  the  Springs.    Do  as  the 
princess  does:  take  the  waters  religiously. 

MILLY. 

The  princess  oughtn't  to  be  climbing  up  such  a  steep 
hill  either  on  a  hot  day  like  this. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF  (more  softly). 

Well,  you  know  why  we  are  taking  all  this  trouble.     If, 
by  good  luck,  we  should  happen  to  meet  the  princess 

LIDDY. 

(Who   has   been   looking   through   the   telescope.)     Oh, 
there  it  is  again! 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF  (eagerly). 
Where?     Where?     (Takes  LIDDY'S  place.) 

LIDDY. 
It's  just  coming  around  the  turn  at  the  top. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 

Oh,  now  I  see  it!    Why,  there's  no  one  inside! 
[148] 


THE   FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

LlDDY. 

Well,  then  she's  coming  up  on  foot. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF  (to  MILLY). 

See,  the  princess  is  coming  up  on  foot,  too.  And  she  is 
just  as  anaemic  as  you  are. 

MILLY. 

If  I  were  going  to  marry  a  grand-duke,  and  if  I  could 
have  my  own  carriage  driven  along  beside  me,  I  wouldn't 
complain  of  having  to  walk  either. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 
I  can't  see  a  thing  now. 

LIDDY. 
You  have  to  turn  the  screw,1  mother. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 
I  have  been  turning  it  right  along,  but  the  telescope 

won't  move. 

LIDDY. 
Let  me  try. 

STRUBEL. 

(Who  has  been  throwing  little  wads  of  paper  at  ROSA 
during  the  preceding  conversation.)  What  are  they  up  to  ? 

LIDDY. 

It  seems  to  me  that  you've  turned  the  screw  too  far, 
mother. 

[149] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

FBAU  v.  HALLDORF. 
Well,  what  shall  we  do  about  it  ? 

STRUBEL  (rising). 

Permit  me  to  come  to  your  aid,  ladies.  I've  had  some 
experience  with  these  old  screws. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 
Very  kind — indeed.     (STRUBEL  busies  himself  with  the 

instrument.) 

LIDDY. 

Listen,  mother.  If  the  carriage  has  almost  reached  the 
top  the  princess  can't  be  far  off.  Wouldn't  it  be  best,  then, 
to  watch  for  them  on  the  road? 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 
Certainly,  if  you  think  that  would  be  best,  dear  Liddy. 

STRUBEL. 

This  is  not  only  an  old  screw,  but  it's  a  regular  per- 
verted old  screw! 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 

Ah,  really  ? — (Aside  to  her  daughters.)  And  if  she  should 
actually  speak  to  us  at  this  accidental  meeting — and  if  we 
could  present  ourselves  as  the  subjects  of  her  noble  fiance, 
and  tell  her  that  we  live  at  her  future  home — just  imagine 
what  an  advantage  that  would  give  us  over  the  other  women 
of  the  court! 

[150] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 

There,  ladies!  We  have  now  rescued  the  useful  instru- 
ment to  which  the  far-sightedness  of  mankind  is  indebted. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORP. 

Thanks,  so  much. — Pardon  me,  sir,  but  have  you  heard 
anything  about  the  report  that  the  princess  is  going  to 
make  the  journey  up  here  to-day  ? 

STRUBEL. 

The  princess?  The  Princess  of  the  Springs?  The 
Princess  of  the  lonely  villa  ?  The  Princess  who  is  expected 
at  the  iron  spring  every  morning,  but  who  has  never  been 
seen  by  a  living  soul  ?  Why,  I  am  enormously  interested. 
You  wouldn't  believe  how  much  interested  I  am! 

LIDDY  (who  has  looked  out,  back). 
There — there — there — it  is! 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 
The  carriage  ? 

LIDDY. 

It's  reached  the  top  already.  It  is  stopping  over  there  at 
the  edge  of  the  woods. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 

She  will  surely  enter  it  there,  then.    Come  quickly,  my 
dear  children,  so  that  it  will  look  quite  accidental. — Here  is 
[151] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

/our  money.  (She  throws  a  coin  to  ROSA  and  unwraps  a 
small  package  done  up  in  tissue  paper  which  she  has 
brought  with  her.)  Here  is  a  bouquet  for  you — and  here's 
one  for  you.  You  are  to  present  these  to  the  princess. 

MILLY. 

So  that  it  will  look  quite  accidental — oh,  yes !  (All  three 
go  out.) 

STRUBEL. 

Good  heavens!  Could  I — ?  I  don't  believe  it!  Surely 
she  sits — Well,  I'll  make  sure  right  away—  (Goes  up  to 
the  telescope  and  stops.)  Oh,  I'll  go  along  with  them,  any- 
how. (Exit  after  them.) 

FRAU  LINDEMANN  (entering). 
Have  they  all  gone — all  of  them  ? 

ROSA. 
All  of  them. 

FRAU  LINDEMANN  (looking  toward  the  right). 

There — there — two  ladies  and  a  lackey  are  coming  up 
the  footpath.  Mercy  me!  How  my  heart  is  beating! — If 
I  had  only  had  the  sofa  re-covered  last  spring! — What  am 
I  going  to  say  to  them  ? — Rosa,  don't  you  know  a  poem  by 
heart  which  you  could  speak  to  the  princess  ?  (RosA 
shrugs  her  shoulders.)  They're  coming  through  the  court 
[  152  ] 


THE   FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

now! — Stop  putting  your  arms  under  your  apron  that  way, 
you  stupid  thing!— oh  dear,  oh  dear 

(The  door  opens.  A  LACKEY  in  plain  black  livery  enters, 
and  remains  standing  at  the  door.  He  precedes  THE  PRIN- 
CESS and  FRAU  VON  BROOK.  THE  PRINCESS  is  a  pale, 
sickly,  unassuming  young  girl,  wearing  a  very  simple 
walking  costume  and  a  medium-sized  leghorn  hat  trimmed 
with  roses.  FRAU  VON  BROOK  is  a  handsome,  stately, 
stern-looking  woman,  in  the  thirties.  She  is  well  dressed, 
but  in  accordance  with  the  simple  tastes  of  the  North  German 

nobility.') 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Who  is  the  proprietor  of  this  place? 

FRAU  LINDEMANN.    . 
At  your  command,  your  Highness. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK  (reprovingly). 

I  am  the  maid  of  honour. — Where  is  the  room  that  has 
been  ordered? 

FRAU  LINDEMANN  (opens  the  door,  left). 
Here — at  the  head  of  the  stairs— my  lady. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Would  your  Highness  care  to  remain  here  for  a  few 
moments  ? 

[153] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Very  much,  dear  Frau  von  Brook. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Edward,  order  what  is  needed  for  Her  Highness  and  see 
that  a  room  next  to  Her  Highness  is  prepared  for  me.  I 
may  assume  that  these  are  your  Highness's  wishes? 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Why  certainly,  dear  Frau  von  Brook.  (THE  LACKEY, 
who  is  carrying  shawls  and  pillows,  goes  out  with  ROSA, 

left.) 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Mais  puisque  je  te  dis,  Eugenie,  que  je  n'ai  pas  som- 
meil.  M'envoyer  coucher  comme  une  enfant,  c'est  abom- 
inable. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Mais  je  t'implore,  cherie,  sois  sage!  Tu  sais,  que  c'est 
le  medecin,  qui 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Ah,  ton  ruedecin!    Tou jours  cette  corvee.     Et  si  je  te 

dis 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Chut!  My  dear  woman,  wouldn't  it  be  best  for  you  to 
superintend  the  preparations  ? 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

I  am  entirely  at  your  service.    (About  to  go  out,  left.) 
[154] 


THE   FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

One  thing  more.  This  veranda,  leading  from  the  house 
to  the  grounds — would  it  be  possible  to  close  it  to  the 
public  ? 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

Oh,  certainly.    The  guests  as  often  as  not  sit  out  under 

the  trees. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Very  well,  then  do  so,  please.  (FRAU  LINDEMANN  locks 
the  door.)  We  may  be  assured  that  no  one  will  enter  this 
place  ? 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 

If  it  is  desired,  none  of  us  belonging  to  the  house  will 
come  in  here  either. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 
We  should  like  that. 

FRAU  LINDEMANN. 
Very  well.     (Exit.) 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Really,  you  must  be  more  careful,  darling.  If  that 
woman  had  understood  French—  You  must  be  careful! 

THE  PRINCESS. 

What  would  have  been  so  dreadful  about  it  ? 
[155] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Oh,  my  dear  child!  This  mood  of  yours,  which  is  due  to 
nothing  but  your  illness — that  reminds  me,  you  haven't 
taken  your  peptonised  milk  yet — this  is  a  secret  which  we 
must  keep  from  everyone,  above  all  from  your  fiance.  If 
the  Grand-Duke  should  discover 

THE  PRINCESS  (shrugging  her  shoulders'). 
Well,  what  of  it  ? 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 
A  bride's  duty  is  to  be  a  happy  bride.     Otherwise 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Otherwise  ? 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

She  will  be  a  lonely  and  an  unloved  woman. 

THE  PRINCESS  (with  a  little  smile  of  resignation). 

Ah! 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

What  is  it,  dear?  (THE  PRINCESS  shakes  her  head.) 
And  then  think  of  the  strain  of  those  formal  presenta- 
tions awaiting  you  in  the  autumn !  You  must  grow  strong. 
Remember  that  you  must  be  equal  to  the  most  exacting 
demands  of  life. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Of  life?    Whose  life? 

[156] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 
What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Ah,  what  good  does  it  do  to  talk  about  it  ? 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Yes,  you  are  right.  In  my  soul,  too,  there  are  unhappy 
and  unholy  thoughts  that  I  would  rather  not  utter.  From 
my  own  experience  I  know  that  it  is  best  to  keep  strictly 
within  the  narrow  path  of  Duty. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
And  to  oo  to  sleep. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 
Ah,  it  isn't  only  that. 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Look  out  there!  See  the  woods! — Ah,  to  lie  down  on  the 
moss,  to  cover  oneself  with  leaves,  to  watch  the  clouds  pass 
by  high  above 

FRAU  v.  BROOK  (softening). 
We  can  do  that,  .too,  sometime. 

THE  PRINCESS  (laughing  aloud). 
Sometime! 

(THE  LACKEY  appears  at  the  door). 
[157] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 
Is  everything  ready  ?     (THE  LACKEY  bows.) 

THE  PRINCESS  (aside  to  FRAU  v.  BROOK). 
But  I  simply  cannot  sleep. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

Try  to,  for  my  sake.     (Aloud.)     Does  your  Highness 
command 

THE  PRINCESS  (smiling  and  sighing). 
Yes,  I  command.     (They  go  out,  left.) 

(The  stage  remains  empty  for  several  moments.     Then 
STRUBEL  is  heard  trying  the  latch  of  the  back  door.) 

STRUBEL'S  VOICE. 

Hullo!  What's  up!  Why  is  this  locked  all  of  a  sudden  ? 
Rosa! — Open  up!  I've  got  to  look  through  the  telescope! 
Rosa!  Won't  you  ? — Oh,  well,  I  know  how  to  help  myself. 
(He  is  seen  walking  outside  of  the  glass-covered  veranda. 
Then  he  puts  his  head  through  the  open  window  at  the 
right.)  Not  a  soul  inside? —  (Climbs  over.)  Well,  here 
we  are.  What  on  earth  has  happened  to  these  people? 
(Unlocks  the  back  door  and  looks  out.)  Everything  deserted. 
Well,  it's  all  the  same  to  me.  (Locks  the  door  again.) 
But  let's  find  out  right  away  what  the  carriage  has  to  do 
with  the  case.  (Prepares  to  look  through  the  telescope. 
[158] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS  enters  cautiously  through  the  door  at  the 
left,  her  hat  in  her  hand.  Without  noticing  STRUBEL,  who 
is  standing  motionless  before  the  telescope,  she  goes  hur- 
riedly to  the  door  at  the  back  and  unlocks  it.) 

STRUBEL. 

(Startled  at  the  sound  of  the  key,  turns  around.)  Why, 
how  do  you  do  ?  (THE  PRINCESS,  not  venturing  to  move, 
glances  back  at  the  door  through  which  she  has  entered.) 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  look  through  the  telescope  a  while? 
Please  do.  (THE  PRINCESS,  undecided  as  to  whether  or  not 
she  should  answer  him,  takes  a  few  steps  back  toward  the 
door  at  the  left.)  Why  are  you  going  away?  I  won't  do 
anything  to  you. 

THE  PRINCESS  (reassured). 
Oh,  I'm  not  going  away. 

STRUBEL. 

That's  right.  But — where  have  you  come  from  ?  The 
door  was  locked.  Surely  you  didn't  climb  through  the 
window  as  I  did? 

THE  PRINCESS  (frightened). 
What? — You  came — through  the  window? 

STRUBEL. 
Of  course  I  did. 

[159] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS  (frightened  aneic). 
Then  I  had  rather —     (About  to  go  back.) 

STRUBEL. 

Oh,  my  dear  young  lady,  you  just  stay  right  here.  Why, 
before  I'd  drive  you  away  I'd  pitch  myself  headlong  over 
a  precipice! 

THE  PRINCESS  (smiling,  reassured). 
I  only  wanted  to  go  out  into  the  woods  for  half  an  hour. 

STRUBEL. 
Oh,  then  you're  a  regular  guest  here  at  the  Inn  ? 

THE  PRINCESS  (quickly). 
Yes — yes,  of  course. 

STRUBEL. 
And  of  course  you  drink  the  waters  down  below  ? 

THE  PRINCESS  (in  a  friendly  way). 

Oh,  yes,  I  drink  the  waters.  And  I'm  taking  the  baths, 
too. 

STRUBEL. 

Two  hundred  metres  up  and  down  every  time!  Isn't 
that  very  hard  on  you  ?  Heavens !  And  you  look  so  pale ! 
See  here,  my  dear  young  lady,  don't  you  do  it.  It  would 
be  better  for  you  to  go  down  there — that  is —  Oh,  forgive 
me!  I've  been  talking  without  thinking.  Of  course,  you 
[160] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

have  your  own  reasons —  It's  decidedly  cheaper  up  here. 
7  know  how  to  value  a  thing  of  that  sort.  I've  never  had 
any  money  in  all  my  life! 

THE  PRINCESS  (trying  to  seem  practical). 

But  when  one  comes  to  a  watering-place,  one  must  have 
money. 

STRUBEL  (slapping  himself  on  the  chest). 

Do  I  look  to  you  as  if  I  drank  iron  ?  Thank  Heaven, 
I  can't  afford  such  luxuries!  No;  I'm  only  a  poor  fellow 
who  earns  his  miserable  pittance  during  vacation  by  acting 
as  a  private  tutor — that's  to  say,  "miserable"  is  only  a 
figure  of  speech,  for  in  the  morning  I  lie  abed  until  nine, 
at  noon  I  eat  five,  and  at  night  seven,  courses;  and  as  for 
work,  I  really  haven't  a  thing  to  do!  My  pupil  is  so 
anaemic — why,  compared  to  him,  you're  fit  for  a  circus  rider! 

THE  PRINCESS  (laughing  unrestrainedly). 
Oh,  well,  I'm  rather  glad  I'm  not  one. 

STRUBEL. 
Dear  me,  it's  a  business  like  any  other. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Like  any  other  ?    Really,  I  didn't  think  that. 

STRUBEL. 

And  pray,  what  did  you  think  then? 
[161] 


THE   FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh,  I  thought  that  they  were — an  entirely  different  sort 

of  people. 

STRUBEL. 

My  dear  young  lady,  all  people  are  "an  entirely  different 
sort."  Of  course  we  two  aren't.  We  get  along  real  well 
together,  don't  we  ?  As  poor  as  church  mice,  both  of  us! 

THE  PRINCESS  (smiling  reflectively). 
Who  knows  ?    Perhaps  that's  true. 

STRUBEL  (kindly). 

Do  you  know  what  ?  If  you  want  to  stay  down  there — 
I'll  tell  you  how  one  can  live  cheaply.  I  have  a  friend,  a 
student  like  myself.  He's  here  to  mend  up  as  you  are.  I 
feed  him  up  at  the  house  where  I'm  staying.  (Frightened 
at  a  peculiar  look  of  THE  PRINCESS'S.)  Oh,  but  you 
mustn't  be —  No,  I  shouldn't  have  said  it.  It  wasn't 
decent  of  me.  Only,  let  me  tell  you,  I'm  so  glad  to  be  able 
to  help  the  poor  fellow  out  of  my  unexpected  earnings,  that 
I'd  like  to  be  shouting  it  from  the  housetops  all  the  time ! 
Of  course,  you  understand  that,  don't  you  ? 

THE  PRINCESS. 
You  like  to  help  people,  then? 

STRUBEL. 
Surely — don't  you? 

[162] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS  (reflecting). 

No.  There's  always  so  much  talk  about  it,  and  the 
whole  thing  immediately  appears  in  the  newspapers. 

STRUBEL. 
What  ?    If  you  help  some  one,  that  appears ? 

THE  PRINCESS  (quickly  correcting  herself). 
I  only  mean  if  one  takes  part  in  entertainments  for 

charity 

STRUBEL. 

Oh,  yes,  naturally.  In  those  things  they  always  get 
some  woman  of  rank  to  act  as  patroness,  if  they  can,  and 
she  sees  to  it,  you  may  be  sure,  that  the  newspapers  make 
a  fuss  over  it. 

THE  PRINCESS  (demurely). 

Oh,  not  every 

STRUBEL. 

Just  try  to  teach  me  something  I  don't  know  about  these 
titled  women !  Besides,  my  dear  young  lady,  where  is  your 
home — in  one  of  the  large  cities,  or ? 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh,  no.     In  quite  a  small  town — really  more  like  the 

country. 

STRUBEL. 

Then,  I'm  going  to  show  you  something  that  you  prob- 
ably never  saw  before  in  all  your  life. 
[163] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh  do!    What  is  it? 

STRUBEL. 

A  princess!    H'm — not  a  make-believe,  but  a  real,  true- 
blue  princess! 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh,  really? 

STRUBEL. 
Yes.    Our  Princess  of  the  Springs. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
And  who  may  that  be  ? 

STRUBEL. 
Why,  Princess  Marie  Louise. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Of  Geldern? 

STRUBEL. 
Of  course. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Do  you  know  her? 

STRUBEL. 
Why,  certainly. 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Really  ?    I  thought  that  she  lived  in  great  retirement 
[164] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 

Well,  that  doesn't  do  her  any  good.  Not  a  bit  of  it 
And  because  you  are  such  a  jolly,  good  fellow,  I'm  going 
to  tell  you  my  secret.  I'm  in  love  with  this  princess! 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh! 

STRUBEL. 

You  can't  imagine  what  a  comfort  it  is.  The  fact  is, 
every  young  poet  has  got  to  have  a  princess  to  love. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Are  you  a  poet? 

STRUBEL. 

Can't  you  tell  that  by  looking  at  me  ? 

THE  PRINCESS. 
I  never  saw  a  poet  before. 

STRUBEL. 

Never  saw  a  poet — never  saw  a  princess!  Why,  you're 
learning  a  heap  of  things  to-day! 

THE  PRINCESS  (assenting). 
H'm — And  have  you  written  poems  to  her? 

STRUBEL. 

Why,  that  goes  without  saying!    Quantities  of  'em! 
[165] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh,  please  recite  some  little  thing — won't  you  ? 

STRUBEL. 
No,  not  yet.    Everything  at  the  proper  time. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Ah,  yes,  first  I  should  like  to  see  the  princess. 

STRUBEL. 
No,  first  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  whole  story. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh,  yes,  yes.    Please  do.    (Sits  down.) 

STRUBEL. 

Well,  then — I  had  hardly  heard  that  she  was  here  before 
I  was  dead  in  love  with  her.  It  was  just  as  quick  as  a  shot, 
I  tell  you.  Just  as  if  I  had  waited  all  my  life  long  to  fall  in 
love  with  her.  Besides,  I  also  heard  about  her  beauty — 
and  her  sorrow.  You  see,  she  had  an  early  love  affair. 

THE  PRINCESS  (disconcerted). 
What  ?  Are  they  saying  that  ? 

STRUBEL. 

Yes.  It  was  a  young  officer  who  went  to  Africa  because 
of  her — and  died  there. 

[166] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS. 
And  they  know  that,  too  ? 

STRUBEL. 

What  don't  they  know? — But  that's  a  mere  detail — it 
doesn't  concern  me.  Even  the  fact  that  in  six  months  she 
will  become  the  bride  of  a  grand-duke — even  that  can 
make  no  difference  to  me.  For  the  present  she  is  my  prin- 
cess.— But  you're  not  listening  to  me! 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh,  yes  I  am! 

STRUBEL. 

Do  you  know  what  that  means — my  princess  ?  I'll  not 
give  up  my  princess — not  for  anything  in  all  the  world! 

THE  PRINCESS. 
But — if  you  don't  even  know  her ? 

STRUBEL. 
I  don't  know  her  ?    Why,  I  know  her  as  well  as  I  know 

myself ! 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Have  you  ever  met  her,  then  ? 

STRUBEL. 

I  don't  know  of  any  one  who  has  ever  met  her.     And 
there's  not  a  soul  that  can  tell  what  she  looks  like.    It  is 
said  that  there  were  pictures  of  her  in  the  shop-windows 
[167] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

when  she  first  came,  but  they  were  removed  immediately. 
In  the  morning  a  great  many  people  are  always  lurking 
around  the  Springs  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her.  I 
myself  have  gotten  up  at  six  o'clock  a  couple  of  times — on 
the  same  errand — and  if  you  knew  me  better,  you'd  realise 
what  that  meant.  But  not  a  sign  of  her!  Either  she  has 
the  stuff  brought  to  her  house,  or  she  has  the  power  of 
making  herself  invisible.  (THE  PRINCESS  turns  aside  to 
conceal  a  smile.)  After  that,  I  used  to  hang  around  her 
garden — every  day,  for  hours  at  a  time.  Until  one  day  the 
policeman,  whom  the  managers  of  the  Springs  have  sta- 
tioned at  the  gates,  came  up  to  me  and  asked  me  what  on 
earth  I  was  doing  there.  Well,  that  was  the  end  of  those 
methods  of  approach !  Suddenly,  however,  a  happy  thought 
struck  me.  Now  I  can  see  her,  and  have  her  near  to  me  as 
often  as  I  wish. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Why,  that's  very  interesting.     How  ? 

STRUBEL. 

Yes,  that's  just  the  point.    H'm,  should  I  risk  it  ?    Should 
I  take  you  into  my  confidence  ? 

THE  PRINCESS. 

You  promised  me  some  time  ago  that  you  would  show 
her  to  me. 

[168] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 

Wait  a  second.  (Looks  through  the  telescope.)  There  she 
is.  Please  look  for  yourself. 

THE  PRINCESS. 

But  I  am —  (She,  too,  looks  through  the  telescope.) 
Actually,  there  is  the  garden  as  plain  as  if  one  were  in  it. 

STRUBEL. 

And  at  the  corner  window  on  the  left — with  the  em- 
broidery-frame— that's  she. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Are  you  absolutely  certain  that  that  is  the  princess  ? 

STRUBEL. 
Why,  who  else  could  it  be  ? 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Oh,  'round  about  a  princess  like  that — there  are  such  a 
lot  of  people.  For  instance,  there  is  her  waiting-woman, 
there's  the  seamstress  and  her  assistants,  there's 

STRUBEL. 

But  my  dear  young  lady,  if  you  only  understood  any- 
thing about  these  matters,  you  would  have  been  certain  at 
the  very  first  glance  that  it  was  she — and  no  one  else. 
Observe  the  nobility  in  every  motion — the  queenly  grace 

with  which  she  bends  over  the  embroidery-frame 

[160] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS. 
How  do  you  know  that  it's  an  embroidery-frame  ? 

STRUBEL. 

Why,  what  should  a  princess  be  bending  over  if  not  an 
embroidery-frame  ?  Do  you  expect  her  to  be  darning 

stockings  ? 

THE  PRINCESS. 

It  wouldn't  hurt  her  at  all! 

STRUBEL. 

Now,  that's  just  one  of  those  petty,  bourgeois  notions 
which  we  ought  to  suppress.  It's  not  enough  that  we  have 
to  stick  in  this  misery,  but  we'd  like  to  drag  her  down, 
too — that  being  far  above  all  earthly  care 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh,  dear  me! 

STRUBEL. 

What  are  you  sighing  about  so  terribly  ? 

THE  PRINCESS 

Tell  me,  wouldn't  you  like  to  have  a  closer  acquaintance 
with  your  princess,  sometime  ? 

STRUBEL. 

Closer  ?    Why  should  I  ? — Isn't  she  close  enough  to  me, 
my  far-away  princess  ? — for  that's  what  I  call  her  when  I 
talk  to  myself  about  her.    And  to  have  her  still  closer  ? 
[170] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Why,  so  that  you  could  talk  to  her  and  know  what  she 
really  was  like. 

STRUBEL  (terrified). 

Talk  to  her!  Heaven  forbid!  Goodness  gracious,  no! 
Just  see  here — how  am  I  to  face  a  princess  ?  I'm  an  ordi- 
nary fellow,  the  son  of  poor  folks.  I  haven't  polished  man- 
ners— I  haven't  even  a  decent  tailor.  A  lady  like  that — 
why,  she'd  measure  me  from  top  to  toe  in  one  glance. — 
I've  had  my  lessons  in  the  fine  houses  where  I've  applied 
as  tutor.  A  glance  from  boots  to  cravat — and  you're  dis- 
missed ! 

THE  PRINCESS. 

And  you  think  that  I — (correcting  herself) — that  this 
girl  is  as  superficial  as  that? 

STRUBEL. 

"This  girl"!  Dear  me,  how  that  sounds!  But,  how 
should  I  ever  succeed  in  showing  her  my  real  self  ?  And 
even  if  I  should,  what  would  she  care  ? — Oh,  yes,  if  she 
were  like  you — so  nice  and  simple — and  with  such  a  kind- 
hearted,  roguish  little  twinkle  in  her  eye ! 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Roguish— I?    Why  so? 

[171] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 

Because  you  are  laughing  at  me  in  your  sleeve.  And 
really  I  deserve  nothing  better. 

THE  PRINCESS. 

But  your  princess  deserves  something  better  than  your 
opinion  of  her. 

STRUBEL. 
How  do  you  know  that  ? 

THE  PRINCESS. 

You  really  ought  to  try  to  become  acquainted  with  her 
sometime. 

STRUBEL. 

No,  no,  no — and  again  no!  As  long  as  she  remains  my 
far-away  princess,  she  is  everything  that  I  want  her  to  be — 
modest,  gracious,  loving.  She  smiles  upon  me  dreamily. 
Yes,  she  even  listens  when  I  recite  my  poems  to  her — and 
that  can't  be  said  of  many  people !  And  as  soon  as  I  have 
finished,  she  sighs,  takes  a  rose  from  her  breast,  and  casts 
it  down  to  the  poet. — I  wrote  a  few  verses  yesterday  about 
that  rose,  that  flower  which  represents  the  pinnacle  of  my 
desires,  as  it  were. 

THE  PRINCESS  (eagerly). 
Oh,  yes.    Oh,  please,  please! 


THE   FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 

Well,  then,  here  goes.     H'm — "Twenty  roses  nestling 

close " 

THE  PRINCESS. 
What?     Are  there  twenty  now? 

STRUBEL  (severely). 
My  princess  would  not  have  interrupted  me. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh  please — forgive  me. 

STRUBEL. 
I  shall  begin  again. 

Twenty  roses  nestling  close 

Gleam  upon  thy  breast, 
Twenty  years  of  rose-red  love 

Upon  thy  fair  cheeks  rest. 

Twenty  years  would  I  gladly  give 

Out  of  life's  brief  reign, 
Could  I  but  ask  a  rose  of  thee 

And  ask  it  not  in  vain. 

Twenty  roses  thou  dost  not  need 

— Why,  pearls  and  rubies  are  thine!— 

With  nineteen  thou'dst  be  just  as  fair, 
And  one  would  then  be  mine  ! 
[173] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

And  twenty  years  of  rose-wreathed  joy 

Would  spring  to  life  for  me — 
Yet  twenty  years  could  ne'er  suffice 

To  worship  it — and  thee! 

THE  PRINCESS. 
How  nice  that  is!    I've  never  had  any  verses  written  to 

me  b 

STRUBEL. 

Ah,  my  dear  young  lady,  ordinary  folks  like  us  have  to 
do  their  own  verse-making! 

THE  PRINCESS. 

And  all  for  one  rose ! — Dear  me,  how  soon  it  f  ade^ .    And 
then  what  is  left  you  ? 

STRUBEL. 

No,  my  dear  friend,  a  rose  like  that  never  fades — even  as 
my  love  for  the  gracious  giver  can  never  die. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
But  you  haven't  even  got  it  yet! 

STRUBEL. 

That  makes  no  difference  in  the  end.     I'm  entirely  in- 
dependent of  such  externals.    When  some  day  I  shall  be 
explaining  Ovid  to  the  beginners,  or  perhaps  even  reading 
Horace  with  the  more  advanced  classes — no,  it's  better  for 
[174] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

the  present  not  to  think  of  reaching  any  such  dizzy  heights 
of  greatness — well,  then  I  shall  always  be  saying  to  myself 
with  a  smile  of  satisfaction,  "You,  too,  were  one  of  those 
confounded  artist  fellows — why,  you  once  went  so  far  as 
to  love  a  princess!" 

THE  PRINCESS. 
And  that  will  make  you  happy  ? 

STRUBEL. 

Enormously ! — For  what  makes  us  happy  after  all  ?  A 
bit  of  happiness?  Great  heavens,  no!  Happiness  wears 
out  like  an  old  glove. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Well,  then,  what  does  ? 

STRUBEL. 

Ah,  how  should  I  know!  Any  kind  of  a  dream — a  fancy 
— a  wish  unfulfilled — a  sorrow  that  we  coddle — some 
nothing  which  suddenly  becomes  everything  to  us.  I 
shall  always  say  to  my  pupils— "Young  men,  if  you  want 
to  be  happy  as  long  as  you  live,  create  gods  for  yourselves 
in  your  own  image;  these  gods  will  take  care  of  your 
happiness." 

THE  PRINCESS. 

And  what  would  the  god  be  like  that  you  would  create  ? 
[175] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 

Would  be  ?  Is,  my  dear  young  lady,  is  1 — A  man  of  the 
world,  a  gentleman,  well  bred,  smiling,  enjoying  life— who 
looks  out  upon  mankind  from  under  bushy  eyebrows,  who 
knows  Nietzsche  and  Stendhal  by  heart,  and — (pointing  to 
his  shoes)  who  isn't  down  at  the  heels — a  god,  in  short, 
worthy  of  my  princess.  I  know  perfectly  well  that  all 
my  life  long  I  shall  never  do  anything  but  crawl  around 
en  the  ground  like  an  industrious  ant,  but  I  know,  too, 
that  the  god  of  my  fancy  will  always  take  me  by  the  collar 
when  the  proper  moment  comes  and  pull  me  up  again  into 
the  clouds.  Yes,  up  there  I'm  safe. — And  your  god,  or 
rather  your  goddess — what  would  she  look  like  ? 

THE  PRINCESS  (thoughtfully). 

That's  not  easy  to  say.  My  goddess  would  be — a 
quiet,  peaceful  woman  who  would  treasure  a  secret,  little 
joy  like  the  apple  of  her  eye,  who  would  know  nothing  of 
the  world  except  what  she  wanted  to  know,  and  who  would 
have  the  strength  to  make  her  own  choice  when  it  pleased 

her. 

STRUBEL. 

But  that  doesn't  seem  to  me  a  particularly  lofty  aspira- 
tion, my  dear  young  lady. 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Lofty  as  the  heavens,  my  friend. 
[176] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 
My  princess  would  be  of  a  different  opinion. 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Do  you  think  so? 

STRUBEL. 
For  that's  merely  the  ideal  of  every  little  country  girl. 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Not  her  ideal — her  daily  life  which  she  counts  as  naught 
It  is  my  ideal  because  I  can  never  attain  it. 

STRUBEL. 

Oh.  I  say,  my  dear  young  girl!  It  can't  be  as  bad  as 
that!  A  young  girl  like  you — so  charming  and — I  don't 
want  to  be  forward,  but  if  I  could  only  help  you  a  bit! 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Have  you  got  to  be  helping  all  the  time  ?  Before,  it  was 
only  a  cheap  lunch,  now  it's  actually 

STRUBEL. 
Yes,  yes,  I'm  an  awful  donkey,  I  know,  but 

THE  PRINCESS  (smiling). 

Don't  say  any  more  about  it,  dear  friend!  I  like  you 
that  way. 

[177] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL  (feeling  oppressed  by    her  superiority). 
Really  you  are  an  awfully  strange  person!     There's 
something  about  you  that — that 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Well? 

STRUBEL. 

I  can't  exactly  define  it. — Tell  me,  weren't  you  wanting 
to  go  into  the  woods  before?  It's  so — so  oppressive  in 
here. 

THE  PRINCESS. 

Oppressive?  I  don't  find  it  so  at  all — quite  the  con- 
trary. 

STRUBEL. 

No,  no — I'm  restless.  I  don't  know  what — at  all  events, 
may  I  not  escort  you —  ?  One  can  chat  more  freely,  one 
can  express  himself  more  openly — if  one —  (Takes  a  deep 
breath.) 

THE  PRINCESS  (smiling). 

And  you  are  leaving  your  far-away  princess  with  such  a 
light  heart? 

STRUBEL  (carelessly). 

Oh,  she!  She  won't  run  away.  She'll  be  sitting  there  to- 
morrow again — and  the  day  after,  too! 

THE  PRINCESS. 

And  so  that  is  your  great,  undying  love  ? 
[178] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 
Yes,  but  when  a  girl  like  you  comes  across  one's  path • 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 

(Hurrying  in  and  then  drawing  back  in  feigned  aston- 
ishment.} Oh! 

LIDDY  and  MILLY  (similarly). 
Oh! 

STRUBEL. 

Well,  ladies,  didn't  I  tell  you  that  you  wouldn't  find  her  ? 
Princesses  don't  grow  along  the  roadside  like  weeds! 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 

(Disregarding  him — ceremoniously.)  The  infinite  happi- 
ness with  which  this  glorious  event  fills  our  hearts  must 
excuse  in  some  measure  the  extraordinary  breach  of  good 
manners  which  we  are  committing  in  daring  to  address 
your  Highness.  But,  as  the  fortunate  subjects  of  your 
Highness's  most  noble  fiance,  we  could  not  refrain  from • 

STRUBEL. 
Well,  well !     What's  all  this  ? 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF. 

— from    offering    to    our  eagerly  awaited  sovereign  a 
slight  token  of  our  future  loyalty.   Liddy!   Milly!   (LiDDY 
and  MILLY  come  forward,  and,  with  low  court  bows,  offer 
[179] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

their  bouquets.')     My  daughters  respectfully  present  these 
few  flowers  to  the  illustrious  princess 

STRUBEL. 

I  beg  your  pardon,  but  who  is  doing  the  joking  here,  you 
or ? 

(FRAU  v.  BROOK  enters.  THE  PRINCESS,  taken  un- 
awares, has  retreated  more  and  more  helplessly  toward  the 
door  at  the  left,  undecided  whether  to  take  flight  or  remain. 
She  greets  the  arrival  of  FRAU  v.  BROOK  with  a  happy 
sigh  of  relief.) 

FRAU  v.  BROOK  (severely). 

Pardon  me,  ladies.  Apparently  you  have  not  taken  the 
proper  steps  toward  being  presented  to  Her  Highness.  In 
matters  of  this  sort  one  must  first  apply  to  me.  I  may  be 
addressed  every  morning  from  eleven  to  twelve,  and  I 
shall  be  happy  to  consider  your  desires. 

FRAU  v.  HALLDORF  (with  dignity). 

I  and  my  children,  madame,  were  aware  of  the  fact  that 
we  were  acting  contrary  to  the  usual  procedure;  but  the 
impulse  of  loyal  hearts  is  guided  by  no  rule.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  avail  myself  of  your — very  kind  invitation. 

(All  three  go  out  with  low  curtsies  to  THE  PRINCESS.) 
[180] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 

What  forwardness! — But  how  could  you  come  down 
without  me  ? — And  what  is  that  young  man  over  there 
doing?  Does  he  belong  to  those  people? 

(THE  PRINCESS  shakes  her  head.  STRUBEL,  without  a 
word,  goes  to  get  his  hat  which  has  been  lying  on  a  chair, 
bows  abruptly,  and  is  about  to  leave.} 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Oh,  no!    That  wouldn't  be  nice.    Not  that  way 

FRAU  v.  BROOK  {amazed}. 
What?— What!— Why,  your  Highness ! 


THE  PRINCESS. 

Let  me  be,  Eugenie.  This  young  man  and  I  have  be- 
come far  too  good  friends  to  part  in  such  an  unfriendly, 
yes,  almost  hostile,  fashion. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 
Your  Highness,  I  am  very  much 

THE  PRINCESS  (to  STRUBEL). 

You  and  I  will  certainly  remember  this  hour  with  great 
pleasure,  and  I  thank  you  for  it  with  all  my  heart.    If  I 
only  had  a  rose  with  me  so  as  to  give  you  your  dear  wish! 
— Eugenie,  haven't  we  any  roses  with  us  ? 
[181] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 
Your  Highness,  I  am  very  much 


THE  PRINCESS. 

(Examining  herselj  and  searching  among  the  vases.) 
Well,  how  are  we  going  to  manage  it  ? 

STRUBEL. 

I  most  humbly  thank — your  Highness — for  the  kind  in- 
tention. 

THE  PRINCESS. 

No,  no — wait!  (Her  glance  falls  upon  the  hat  which 
she  is  holding  in  her  hand — with  a  sudden  thought.)  I 
have  it! — But  don't  think  that  I'm  joking. — And  we'll  have 
to  do  without  scissors!  (She  tears  one  of  the  roses  from  the 
hat.)  I  don't  know  whether  there  are  just  twenty — 
(Holding  out  one  of  the  roses  to  him.)  Well  ? — This  rose 
has  the  merit  of  being  just  as  real  as  the  sentiment  of  which 
-  we  were  speaking  before — and  just  as  unfading. 

STRUBEL. 

Is  this — to  be — my  punishment?  (THE  PRINCESS 
smilingly  shakes  her  head.)  Or  does  your  Highness  mean 
by  it  that  only  the  Unreal  never  fades  ? 

THE  PRINCESS. 

That  0  exactly  what  I  mean — because  the  Unreal  must 
always  dwell  in  the  imagination. 
[182] 


THE  FAR-AWAY  PRINCESS 

STRUBEL. 

So  that's  it!  Just  as  it  is  only  the  jar-away  princesses 
who  are  always  near  to  us. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 
Permit  me  to  remark,  your  Highness — that  it  is  high 

time 

THE  PRINCESS. 

As  you  see,  those  who  are  near  must  hurry  away.  (Offer- 
ing him  the  rose  again.)  Well  ? 

STRUBEL. 

(Is  about  to  take  it,  but  lets  his  hand  fatt.)  With  the 
far-away  princess  there — (pointing  down) — it  would  have 
been  in  harmony,  but  with  the —  (Shakes  his  head,  then 
softly  and  with  emotion.')  No,  thanks — I'd  rather  not. 
(He  bows  and  goes  out.} 

THE  PRINCESS. 

(Smiling  pensively,  throws  away  the  artificial  flower.] 
I'm  going  to  ask  my  fiance  to  let  me  send  him  a  rose. 

FRAU  v.  BROOK. 
Your  Highness,  I  am  very  much — surprised! 

THE  PRINCESS. 
Well,  I  told  you  that  I  wasn't  sleepy. 

CURTAIN. 
[18$] 


f  * 


A     000034413     5 


